Remember The Music
by Shannon A. Bernstein
Summary: "Gilbert gripped Roderich's limp hand almost too tightly as the sounds of soft piano music drifted in the background. 'Please, remember the music, Roderich,' he pleaded as he prayed for a miracle."
1. Chapter 1

**I must tell you before you start this fic, if you're looking for a happy PruAus fic, look elsewhere. There's going to be a lot of heavy moments in this fic – sadness and potentially angst. Oh, and there will probably also be some OOC moments, but that's due to the nature of the plot. **

**Pairings: PruAus with GerIta, Spamano, FrUK, RusAme, and a little RusPrus**

**Rated M for language, smut, and sad things. **

**I don't own Hetalia. If I did, PruAus would become canon so fast your heads would all spin XD Without further ado, here, have a fic!**

* * *

Another day, another visit.

He raised his head from its bent position in order to glance at his watch. It was almost time to leave. Just a few more minutes. Lowering his head again, he whispered so quietly that his voice was barely audible, even in the empty building: "Please, God, if you give me my love back, I'll do anything. I want him. I need him. Please, Heavenly Father, if you can find the grace to help someone as worthless as me – if you can bring back the man I love – I would be eternally grateful." With those parting words, he rose, his knees stiff from having knelt in the pew for just over half an hour.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had never been a religious man. But ever since it happened, he felt compelled to come to church to pray that his purple-eyed lover would come back to him. He hadn't gotten to see those entrancing violet eyes in two months. With a heavy sigh that seemed to reach all the way through to his heart, Gilbert pushed open the doors and stepped from the dim candlelight of the church into the afternoon sun. His feet led him down the familiar path down the street. Another day, another visit, another prayer, another chance to get his hopes up, another fruitless wish for a miracle. It felt as though no time at all had slipped away when Gilbert arrived at the little market on the corner. Today was Wednesday, which was flower day. "Hello_, _Gilbert," the woman behind the stand greeted with a warm smile. "How are you doing today?"

"Oh, surviving," Gilbert said, trying his best to smile back at her. "And you, Sarah?"

"Very well, thank you. Here you are." She held out a bouquet of red roses spangled with tiny edelweiss. It was sad, so sad, that Sarah no longer had to ask what Gilbert wanted. He'd been coming here long enough that she knew his name and his order, and had it ready for him when he arrived on the dot each week. It was the same every Wednesday: red roses with edelweiss tucked into the spaces in between. Edelweiss had always been _his_ favorite flower. And Gilbert chose red roses to show he was still in love, even after all this time. He paid for the flowers and waved over his shoulder to Sarah before turning back down the street in the direction he had come.

Returning to the church parking lot, he reluctantly slid into the driver's seat of his car. Ever since that day two months ago, he had never again been comfortable behind the wheel. He'd once been a careless, crazy driver who liked to exceed the speed limit and pass illegally. But now, Gilbert drove so carefully that when he was in a lighthearted mood, Antonio and Francis would tease him by saying he drove like an old lady. Most of the time, however, either the Frenchman or the Spaniard would climb wordlessly into the car behind the wheel while Gilbert got into the backseat. The three generally avoided any discussion about driving.

He drove to the hospital, another familiar and well-traveled route for Gilbert. Sometimes it seemed as if his car almost drove itself there. He parked and made the walk to the hospital's sliding doors. Even though it was only a hundred feet or so from where he'd parked to the entrance, it seemed like a long trek. Every day, Gilbert waited for that walk to seem shorter, but the heaviness in his heart made it stretch on for what felt like forever. He walked past the front desk. Without lifting her eyes from her computer screen, the woman seated there said, "Hello, Gilbert." Then she glanced at Gilbert, gave him a little smile, and added, "Go right on ahead."

"Thank you, Lili," Gilbert replied as he gave a nod to the petite blonde woman.

He took the elevator up to the third floor. As his footfalls echoed down the hallway, he counted the room numbers in his head, though he probably could have found the room if he had walked with his eyes shut. The door was already open, and Gilbert stepped inside wordlessly. "Is that you, Gilbert?" said a nurse, whose back was currently facing Gilbert.

"Of course it's me, Elizaveta!" Gilbert replied with a chuckle. "I'm on the dot as always. That's just how awesome I am. _Kesesese!_"

Elizaveta giggled a little as she turned to face him. "Yes, you are very awesome indeed, being here every day. That _is _pretty awesome." Everything about Gilbert's daily routine was perpetually unchanging, right down to Elizaveta. As she gazed back at him, she wore the same sweet, comforting smile with which she always greeted him. Her long brown hair that reached all the way down to her waist was tied back into the same high ponytail. She wore the same emerald green scrubs, which brought out and matched the color of her bright green eyes. Every one of Gilbert's days seemed to blend together, almost as though his whole life was frozen in time.

Another thing that never changed was the man lying in the bed behind Elizaveta. Gilbert walked over to the side of the bed. He removed the wilted bouquet in the vase, tossed it into the nearby trashcan, and replaced it with the fresh one. Then, Gilbert turned at last toward the man he loved. He lay with eyes closed and arms at his sides. Not a single motion stirred that still body, except for the shallow and rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out. Gilbert took the hand that lay limply atop the pristine white sheets in his own hand. Those fingers felt so bony, the palms so cold. They were not the hands Gilbert had once known – the strong hands that had once made beautiful music, the skillful and entitled hands that had once roamed Gilbert's body. "Hey, Roderich," Gilbert said in a small voice as his free hand brushed brown hair away from the other man's face. "Hey, baby. It's me. It's Gilbert. I'm back."

Of course, Roderich did not respond. Of course, Roderich did not open his eyes. If he had, Gilbert would have broken down and cried instantly. Roderich had been in a coma for nearly two months to the day. Gilbert could still remember the accident as though it had been yesterday. More accurately, he could still remember what came afterward. He squeezed his eyes shut as the memories came flooding in.

_He hadn't been in the car with Roderich when another vehicle had swerved into his lane. He hadn't seen the man he loved jerk the wheel to the side in a panic. He hadn't seen the car roll over onto its roof in the middle of the highway. And finally, he hadn't watched a third car plow into Roderich's smashed vehicle. What Gilbert did remember was the sound of the phone ringing, cutting through the silence of the still home, the apathetic voice on the other end of the line, and his shaking fingers as he'd jammed the key to his own car into the ignition. He'd driven as fast as he could to the hospital, only to be told that Roderich was in the emergency room in critical condition, and that Gilbert couldn't see him yet. He remembered pacing endlessly in the lobby, waiting, agonizing, terrified like never before, his mind filling in the details from what he'd been told. And then when Gilbert was finally let into the room, he bent over Roderich, waiting for the other man to smile up sleepily at him, heavy with anesthesia and morphine. But instead…nothing. Just nothing. That was when he'd been told that the man he loved wouldn't wake up… _

"Roderich, sweetie," Gilbert whispered. His lips grazed Roderich's pale, hollow cheek. "I need you to wake up for me. Please. P-please…" His voice cracked as he remembered that day, remembered that it was possible he'd never have Roderich back. His vision grew blurry, and hot tears slipped down his cheeks. As he brushed those tears away with the back of his hand, Gilbert tried desperately to sniffle back the sobs that caught in his throat, but he failed. Soon, sobs shook his shoulders, as he stood bent over Roderich, tears dripping from his eyes onto the Austrian's motionless face. He still gripped the weak, lifeless hand relentlessly, as thought that grasp could somehow bring the other man back.

A soothing pair of hands fell onto Gilbert's shoulders. "Gilbert, honey," Elizaveta said gently. She tugged him softly but insistently away from Roderich. He could have resisted her if he wanted, but he let himself be dragged to the edge of the bed, where he covered his face with his hand as he sobbed. His body went rigid as Elizaveta wrapped her arms around him in an attempt to comfort him. His cheeks felt hot. Gilbert lowered his slick eyes, ashamed. He wasn't supposed to cry like this. He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to be _awesome._ In the weeks that had followed the accident, Gilbert had surrounded himself in a façade of strength, assuring his friends of his indomitable hope that Roderich would wake soon and that everything would go back to normal. But his willpower and emotional resoluteness had been cracking from the inside every day since then. He had refused to admit it and refused to let anyone help him, but today, as he again laid eyes on his unresponsive lover, the cracks had fissured beyond repair, and everything crumbled and fell apart. Gilbert sobbed so hard he could barely breathe. Finally, he gave up and cried onto Elizaveta's shoulder, silently glad that Antonio, Francis, and Ludwig weren't around to see him like this.

"Elizaveta, we need you in-" A doctor poked his head in the door. His gaze fell on Gilbert, who was crying in Elizaveta's arms, and his eyes widened. Gilbert was too ashamed to look up and meet the doctor's gaze. "Never mind," the man said. "Just…never mind." Gilbert heard his footsteps echo on the tiled floor before the sound faded and vanished.

The Hungarian nurse continued to hold him. "Gilbert, I'm so sorry," she said. "I know this must be hard for you. But you've got to have faith. The doctors have told me there's still brain activity. He can still wake up. You-"

"I'm supposed to have _faith_?" Gilbert snapped. "It's been two months, you know that? I'm supposed to have faith after _two fucking months_?" He tilted slick crimson eyes up toward Elizaveta, who chewed her lip with a slightly pained and hurt expression. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he added quickly.

"It's okay, honey," she said as she patted Gilbert's back. "I-I understand."

"I-I just…I feel…how would you feel if you were powerless to help the one you loved?" Gilbert said. "Isn't there anything else I can do?" With his face still pressed into Elizaveta's shoulder, he'd created a little patch of dampness on her scrubs where his tears had fallen.

"Well…there is…maybe…something else you can try," Elizaveta said, a little hesitantly. "But it's not proven. It's only a theory. There's no guarantee…"

"Tell me what it is!" Gilbert interrupted sharply. "I'll do it! I'll try anything!"

"Some studies have suggested that patients…like Roderich…" Elizaveta stepped carefully over her words, obviously trying not to upset Gilbert, "…may respond to music. Roderich played the piano, didn't he?" Gilbert nodded and wiped at his eyes again. "Why don't you bring in some recordings of his favorite piano pieces, ones he'd recognize? Or even recordings of him playing, if you have them?"

Gilbert drew in a quivering breath and tried to collect himself. "Yes, I'll try that. Thank you, Elizaveta. I'd better get going." He stood and wiped his eyes one more time.

"Bye, Gilbert," Elizaveta said. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow," Gilbert replied without hesitation.

Just as Gilbert turned to leave, he returned to Roderich's side and once again took the other man's hand in his. He studied the simple gold wedding band on Roderich's slender ring finger before his eyes moved to the matching band on his own finger. He touched his ring lightly to Roderich's, as if, just like in the superhero movies, that symbolic gesture alone could make two people magically unite. He bent to kiss predictably cold lips. "Bye, Roderich, I'll see you tomorrow," he mumbled against those lips. With that, Gilbert made his way to the door and turned to wave to Elizaveta as he left.

Before leaving the hospital, Gilbert wandered into the restroom, bent over a sink, turned on the faucet to cold, and splashed water on his face. His breaths still quivered as he tried to make the redness vanish from under his eyes. He let himself exhale shakily just once before he forced himself to breathe calmly and normally again. "Okay, I'm fine," he told himself as he straightened, face dripping with water from the sink. He yanked a few paper towels out of the dispenser and dried his face. "I'm fine. Everything…everything is all right." Glancing in the mirror, Gilbert addressed himself: "You can do this, Gil. After all, you _are_ awesome." At those reassuring words, a smile returned to his face. It was weaker than the crazy grins he usually wore, but it would do for now. Maybe Francis and Antonio wouldn't notice.

* * *

Gilbert went directly from the hospital to meet Francis and Antonio for dinner at the trio's favorite café. "_Salut, mon ami!"_ Francis called, waving, as Gilbert approached the two, who were already seated at a table outside. It was a beautiful spring day, but the clear sky, balmy temperature, bright sun, and slight breeze did little to lift Gilbert's mood. Maybe Antonio and Francis would make him feel better.

"Hey, Francis! Antonio!" Gilbert called back, grinning in spite of the heavy emotions that had fought their way to the surface of his life just half an hour ago. His rule was: _leave all the feelings at the hospital._ Those sorts of emotions had no place in his everyday life. He settled into his chair at the table. A glass filled with red wine was waiting for him, no doubt one that Francis had picked out for the three of him. Antonio and Gilbert usually left the wine selection up to Francis, who'd grown up in France around fine wines. Gilbert lifted the glass to his lips and sipped, hoping the alcohol would dissolve some of the stress away from his day.

"How are you, _amigo_?" Antonio asked with a smile.

Gilbert almost wanted to laugh at that question. His two friends knew all about the accident, so clearly they should know how he was feeling! But then again…he suddenly realized he had given the other two no reason to worry about him. He always acted like his usual cheerful, teasing self around them. And that was what he would continue to do. It worked for him. "I'm fine, just fine," Gilbert replied. "How about you guys?"

"I'm doing well!" Antonio said.

"I'm also doing we-" Francis started to answer. But then the Frenchman glanced up from his glass of wine, and his blue eyes came to rest on Gilbert. "_Mon Dieu! _Gilbert, are you all right?" he said suddenly.

Gilbert froze. "What? Of course I am! Didn't I just say that? What – why?" he replied, tripping over his own words a little. He had no idea what Francis was talking about. Of course he was lying – he wasn't _really_ all right. But he couldn't tell Francis and Antonio that, could he? That would be admitting weakness, which was absolutely out of the realm of possibility for Gilbert.

"Your eyes look a little red," Francis said, wearing a concerned expression.

"That's what color they _always_ are, silly! Kesesese! That's just my eyes!" Gilbert shot back with his signature laugh. "Oh, shoot, did my eyes turn blue or something? Or green? Help, guys! My eyes are changing color!" he teased.

For a moment, Francis laughed with Gilbert. "Oh, Gilbert, you are such a smartass sometimes!" he said, smacking his friend's arm lightly. But then he stopped laughing as his expression turned somber again. "No, I mean, it…ah…it looks as though you've been crying."

"I have _not_!" Gilbert snapped indignantly, without even thinking. "You just must be imagining things."

Antonio sighed, eyes full of sadness, and put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "It's all right, Gilbert. You don't have to keep things from us. We're your best friends." He glanced at Francis, who smiled warmly to confirm the Spaniard's statement.

"Okay, so maybe I was!" Gilbert nearly yelled as he slapped Antonio's hand away. He couldn't quite describe why he was reacting this way, why he was being so abrupt with his closest friends. "So what? I'm fine now!" Antonio and Francis gave him looks that clearly said: _I don't believe you. You're not fine._ Gilbert slammed his fist on the table. "Can't you guys just fucking leave me alone?" His wine glass shook at the impact of his fist against the table, and started to tip over. He reached out to grab it before it spilled, but as he did, wine sloshed out over the top and ran down the glass's sides, staining Gilbert's pale fingers deep red.

The two men seated next to Gilbert were stunned into silence. For a moment, neither spoke or moved – it almost seemed like they were both holding their breath. They exchanged glances before a pair of green eyes and a pair of blue eyes turned back toward Gilbert. Francis chewed his lip almost nervously. Antonio exhaled slowly before he said, "Gil, it's all right. You're just a little stressed, and you have every right to be. We should do something. All three of us."

"_Oui_, _d'accord_," Francis said slowly, offering his agreement.

Francis glanced at Antonio, who gave a little nod. Sometimes, it was as though the three of them could read each other's minds. "You know what?" Francis said.

"What?" Gilbert said.

"We're drinking tonight."

* * *

**So…yeah.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Now _this_ is my area of expertise," Gilbert said with a smirk as he pushed two bottles of beer toward Antonio and Francis, while keeping the third for himself. "Stuff's German. It's really good."

Antonio took a sip while Francis glanced up at the other two with his own mischievous smirk. "We're doing shots after this," he said as though it was not up for discussion.

"That sounds like just what I need right about now," Gilbert said. At that moment, he decided he was going to get drunk tonight – not just a little drunk, not just giggly-tipsy drunk. No, he was going to get _really_ drunk. He wanted to forget everything from his job to his mediocre life. He especially wanted to forget Roderich for the night. If he forgot his own name somewhere in that process, well, that was just par for the course.

After having three beers, Gilbert still felt nothing. He liked to attribute that to his German heritage. His father had owned a local brewery back in Germany, and he didn't know many people who could out-drink Gilbert – not even his brother Ludwig. The only one who could was _that Russian._ Gilbert wondered vaguely if he'd show up tonight. On one hand, he half-wanted him to be here. On the other…it could get him into trouble. "Hey, guys, Jager?" Gilbert offered, cocking one eyebrow. Beer was really not enough fun!

"Eager tonight, Gil?" Antonio said, chuckling a little.

"Why not?" Gilbert laughed back.

Antonio and Francis exchanged amused glances and shrugged in surrender. "Two rounds of Jager over here?" Gilbert called to the bartender. The man soon shuffled over with a tray full of six shot glasses, which he pushed onto the table. Gilbert took a shot glass in each hand and dumped the liquid in each glass down his throat, one after another. He licked his lips of the sweet spiced taste before he realized Antonio was staring at him, green eyes wide and questioning as he held his own glass in his hand, frozen in motion halfway to his lips. "What?" Gilbert said with a wry grin.

"Oh, nothing," Antonio replied with a casual tone that belied his slightly startled expression. "It's just that you're a little-"

Antonio didn't get to finish his sentence. The table at which they were seated rattled suddenly. A young man with golden blonde hair, slightly tanned skin, and bright blue eyes rimmed in glasses slammed an open palm onto their table, making their glasses shake. "Whaddaya go' there, Jager?" he said, slurring his words a little. He sounded American – and rather drunk.

Gilbert had to stifle a chuckle as he looked up. This man was drunk already, and it wasn't even midnight yet! "_Ja,_ Jagermeister!" he replied, rolling his bright crimson eyes.

"Duuuuuude!" the blonde said, stretching the word out obnoxiously. "Y'gotta try this!" He shoved a tall glass with a smaller shot glass floating inside across the table toward Gilbert. In the process, he nearly spilled the pinkish liquid in the taller glass all over the front of his shirt. He staggered, nearly slipped, and clutched at the edge of the table for support.

Eyeing the strange concoction curiously, Gilbert said, "What _is_ it?"

"Jager bomb, brooooo!" the American said in a matter-of-fact tone, as if _everyone_ in the world should know what that was. That is, if one could speak in a matter-of-fact tone while obviously drunk.

_Well, alcohol is alcohol,_ Gilbert thought as he lifted the glass to his lips for a sip. When the liquid hit his tongue, he nearly spit it out and had to choke it back in order to swallow. The pinkish liquid was fizzy and was just about the most awful-tasting thing he'd ever tried! How could this young man drink these things? Disgusted, he pushed the glass back toward the man, who shrugged and reached to pick it back up before another man appeared behind him and caught him by the wrist.

"Alfred, I think you've had quite enough," the man said with a humorless British accent. "Really, I think you should learn some self-control." He, too, was blonde, but had a pair of bushy, unkempt eyebrows that arched over green eyes.

Alfred tried to slap the Brit's hand away, but missed entirely, and ended up pawing uselessly at the air. "Okaaaay, dad," he said mockingly.

The Brit picked Alfred's drink up off the table. "I think I'll take this so you don't get into any more trouble," he scolded. "You will wait in the car for me. Go." He then turned to the seated trio. "I'm sorry, has my young friend been bothering y…" For the first time, the Brit studied the three of them. His green eyes settled on Francis. "Oh, it's _you_," he said with a sigh.

"_Salut_, Arthur," Francis said as a smile broke across his face. "You say that as if you don't want to see me."

"Maybe that would be because I _don't _want to see you," Arthur shot back.

Francis just rolled his eyes. "You _know_ you can't resist me."

"In your dreams, you bloody git!" Arthur nearly yelled, cheeks pinking slightly with frustration. "You know what? I don't have time for this. I've got a drunk American who's probably wandering around outside wondering where my car is." He threw his hands up in the air, turned on his heel, and headed off in the other direction.

Still making a disgusted face and trying to get that awful taste out of his mouth, Gilbert remarked, "No more of…whatever that is! I'm going back to straight Jager."

While the three awaited another round of shots, Antonio asked, "How do you know him?"

"Oh, Arthur?" Francis said. "I've been chasing after him for months. He likes to pretend he doesn't like me, but I know better. And the kid, Alfred…Arthur has told me they met a long time ago in school. Alfred's parents were not very involved, so Arthur has acted like a big brother to him. Sweet kid, really, but a little bit full of himself."

"Maybe I'd get along with him, then! _Kesesesese!_" Gilbert offered, laughing at himself. Antonio and Francis laughed along with him, their laughter genuine and open. Earlier that day, it seemed as though they had forced smiles and chuckles when they'd been concerned about Gilbert. But now, with the effects of alcohol kicking in, all those thoughts were fading away.

The bartender returned with the next round. After Gilbert tossed back another shot, he let his gaze wander behind him over his shoulder and found himself looking into a pair of exotic purple eyes. A lustful smirk crept across his face, fueled by alcohol and frustration. That pair of eyes did not, of course, belong to Roderich. Instead, they belonged to Ivan Braginsky. Among other sorts of heartache and pain, the absence of Gilbert's husband often left him sexually frustrated, and Ivan was his release. For almost all of the first month after the accident, Gilbert couldn't bring himself to sleep with anyone else. Sometimes, he'd feel irritated for reasons he couldn't explain, and he'd end up snapping at others. Most often, he'd succumb to his hand late in the night. But it just wasn't the same. Then, one night, he had run into Ivan at this very bar. Francis and Antonio had been busy, so Gilbert had come alone, in desperate need of alcohol. He and Ivan had ended up doing vodka shots together, and the next thing he knew, Gilbert had been in Ivan's bed.

He honestly had no idea how he'd wound up with the tall, big-boned Russian, whose physical type did not even vaguely resemble Roderich's. Antonio or Francis would have been a better choice. Heck, even one of the two Italian brothers, Feliciano and Lovino, would have more closely resembled Roderich in bed than the man who had a good four inches on Gilbert, height-wise, and who could probably crush him if he wanted to. But of course, Feliciano belonged only to Gilbert's brother, and Lovino _hated_ both Gilbert and Ludwig.

Perhaps it was Ivan's eyes. Up until the day he met Ivan, he was sure that his Austrian was the only one in the world with that entrancing amethyst eye color. Perhaps when one pair of purple eyes was missing from his life, he'd found another. Gilbert found himself staring after Ivan's eyes. But the Russian wasn't looking back at him. Instead, he cast a longing, almost regretful glance back at Alfred, who was still hanging around near the front of the bar, as Arthur tried to drag him out of the building. Ivan walked forward while still gazing back at the American. Not focusing on where he was going, he bumped into the edge of the table at which Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis sat. The Russian looked up in shock at the three of them as the clear liquid in his glass – presumably vodka – sloshed onto his hand.

"What are you looking at back there?" Gilbert teased. "The awesome me is right here."

"Oh, hello, Gilbert," Ivan said. The smile that crossed the Russian's face was partially obscured by the scarf he always wore. "What have you got there?" the Russian continued. "Shots of Jager?"

"_Ja!"_ Gilbert replied brightly.

Ivan shook his head with a teasing laugh. "Mother Russia does not approve," he said in a fake scolding tone of voice. "You should do shots of vodka instead."

"Okay, why not?" Gilbert said with a shrug. _Why not_ was quickly becoming the catch phrase of the evening.

Ivan grinned beneath his scarf. "Okay, I will get us some more." He wandered off toward the counter.

Gilbert stood, preparing to follow the Russian. "Don't think I didn't see that look," Antonio interrupted.

"What look?" Gilbert said.

Shaking his head, Antonio said, "Never mind. Nothing. You're right."

Waving over his shoulder at his two friends, Gilbert left to follow Ivan. "See you in a bit, guys!" he called. _In a bit _would probably end up meaning _sometime tomorrow._

He settled into a seat at the bar next to Ivan, where a shot glass of vodka was waiting for him. He picked up the glass and swallowed its contents instantly. Ivan did the same. The bartender pushed a fresh set of vodka shots toward them. The two didn't speak much, only exchanged glances, as they went through rounds. They drank whatever the bartender put in front of them, not bothering to count or keep track. Gilbert's world had started to get a little fuzzy when Ivan said in a low voice, "Want to get out of here?"

"Of course," Gilbert said. They made their way into the parking lot, and Gilbert slid into the passenger seat next to Ivan. Were he sober, he might have thought twice about getting in the car after the Russian had drunk so much vodka. Then again, alcohol never seemed to have much of an effect on Ivan. As Ivan pulled out onto the main road, Gilbert laid a hand on the other man's thigh and casually slid it upward until it rested on his cock. A look of shock invaded those purple eyes as Ivan clearly struggled to keep his focus on the road. Gilbert wanted to chuckle – no, to throw his head back and laugh. As awful as this situation was – that it had come to sleeping with the Russian – it was kind of rewarding to have someone who would let him do these things for once. Had Gilbert ever tried to grab _Roderich's_ cock while he was driving, the Austrian would have shoved his hand away, called him crass, called him an idiot, maybe even threatened to pull the car over if he tried it again. Ivan simply let his breaths come in shallowly as he fixed a somewhat uncomfortable pair of eyes on the road.

It was at that moment that Gilbert realized he and Ivan might not get along very well if they had met outside the bar, both sober and in their right minds. It was an odd moment of frightening clarity in the midst of alcohol-induced foolishness. He tried to push the thought from his mind as he kept his hand right where it had come to rest. But some of the thrill of the moment had dissipated as Gilbert languidly watched the scenery fly by outside the vehicle.

They arrived – miraculously safely – at Ivan's apartment complex and shuffled eagerly out of his car. Halfway up the stairs to Ivan's apartment, the Russian shoved Gilbert against a wall and kissed him roughly and sloppily while his hands roamed the smaller man's body. They grabbed Gilbert's hips and then ran lower across his pelvis before they came to rest on his dick. Ivan rubbed between the albino's legs with the flattened palm of his hand while his tongue invaded Gilbert's mouth. "Can't we at least get back to your room first?" Gilbert asked petulantly, his words smothered by the Russian's lips. Roderich would have _never_ kissed and touched him in the stairwell like this. It was so…so _crass._ That was the word Roderich liked to use.

Ivan said nothing, but grabbed Gilbert's wrist and began to haul him hurriedly up the steps. He started down a hallway at the top of a set of stairs, thrust a key into the keyhole, and pushed open the door. Once the two were inside, Ivan dragged Gilbert into his room and pushed him onto the bed in one sudden, coarse motion. The Russian wasted no time. He instantly started stripping Gilbert of his jeans, tossing them off to the side before doing the same to his own pants. Ivan's body hovered over him for a moment before he closed the distance between them and started to move his hips slowly back and forth, grinding their cocks against each other. Ivan was already half-hard, but Gilbert, by contrast…wasn't. Not at all. He peered hopelessly up at the Russian, wondering when he'd notice, what he'd say, what he'd do. Was it the alcohol? Had Gilbert had too much to drink? Or was it the fact that the man pressing him against the mattress was _not Roderich?_

The slow, rolling, friction-creating movements of Ivan's body halted above him. By the look that crossed the Russian's face, Gilbert could tell _he knew_. Gilbert's cheeks flushed. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, to just disappear for a while. He…he just wasn't getting hard. That had never happened to him before. "I can help you with that," Ivan said, his Russian accent thick and spiked with lust. Those words only made Gilbert blush more furiously. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he couldn't come up with the words to say. Instead, he watched, feeling powerless, as Ivan tugged away Gilbert's boxers, eased his thighs apart, and ran a wet tongue over the head of his cock.

Gilbert shuddered and moaned a little at that touch. He curled his fingers into the bed sheets as his member started to pulse and grow hot – finally, _finally._ But still, something didn't feel quite right. Then he realized: he wasn't very used to be on the receiving end. It was odd to be pinned against the bed with someone else's face between his legs. This was something Gilbert usually did for Roderich. He loved nothing more than to glance up at Roderich while his mouth was around the Austrian's erection, watching every expression that crossed the usually reserved man's face. Even now, Gilbert let his eyes close as he imagined how it would look, all the delicious moans and sweet sighs that would fall from Roderich's lips as Gilbert worked with his tongue and his mouth. Just the thought, the vivid memory, was enough to get him fully hard – to make him forget for an ephemeral moment that the man he was with tonight was Ivan and not Roderich.

"Hmm, that's better, _da_?" Ivan hummed as he pulled his mouth away. The ephemeral moment faded away, lost as the voice with the Russian accent addressed him. But Gilbert didn't care. For now, this felt too good to argue with. He nodded in response to Ivan's somewhat teasing question and watched the Russian step out of his underpants and pull his shirt off over his head. Gilbert followed suit. They were now both completely naked, staring at each other.

"Over," Ivan commanded in a tone of voice that didn't leave room for questioning. Gilbert rolled over and then pushed himself halfway up against the sheets, arranging himself on all fours in front of the Russian. He sank his fingertips and toes into the sheets as much as he could. Ivan could be, well…_rough_ was the best way to describe it. For a moment, a thought flashed across Gilbert's mind: _No. This is wrong. Don't do this._ But he shook his head to shake the thought away, ignoring it.

Ivan raised his hand to his mouth and moistened a few fingers with his tongue. Gilbert knew exactly what he was up to. "No, don't you dare," he growled. "Just put _it_ in, okay?"

By the way Ivan huffed and cast Gilbert an indignant glare, Gilbert could tell the Russian didn't like being told what to do or what not to do, especially in bed. But Gilbert had learned long ago that fingering just wouldn't work if it were Ivan who did it. Of all the ways in which the big-boned Russian differed physically from Roderich, his hands were one of the starkest contrasts. Ivan's were big and often clumsy. Roderich's were skillful pianist's hands, strong and precise yet slender.

Though Ivan looked a little annoyed, he didn't ignore Gilbert's demand. He threw an arm over Gilbert's shoulder and anchored it against the mattress, pinning Gilbert helplessly under his enormous weight. Even if he'd wanted to struggle, to resist, he'd lost that chance. The Russian was so close he could feel warm breath on the back of his neck, ruffling his pale hair. One of Ivan's big hands gripped Gilbert's right hip, while the other found his erect cock. A strangled gasp fell from his lips. Once Ivan's fingers had curled fully around it, he pushed inside Gilbert's entrance with absolutely no warning whatsoever. He whimpered a little in spite of himself at the suddenness of Ivan's big, thick cock filling him completely.

Barely giving Gilbert any time to adjust, Ivan pulled out and thrust hard back in, jerking the smaller body underneath him. He gritted his teeth and let the Russian pound into him relentlessly. On those occasions when he'd let Roderich top, he'd press back eagerly into the other man's thrusts with his hips, heightening the sensation of the Austrian's cock sliding in and out of him. But now, Gilbert froze motionless beneath Ivan. He let the Russian's rough, quick thrusts lurch his body back and forth, like a toy or a little rag doll, helpless and pathetic. Still, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine that the man fucking him mercilessly was Roderich and not Ivan.

Ivan's grasp on his hip was so tight that it was painful. A big hand worked its way unevenly up and down Gilbert's erection. He drew in a series of shallow, quivering breaths at Ivan's touch. He whimpered again and then moaned a little when Ivan found that spot inside him and pressed forcefully into it. Gilbert could feel the curve of those wide hips along his backside. The illusion in his mind was shattered. It was impossible to imagine that those big, clumsy hands were Roderich's. It was impossible to imagine that it was Roderich moving on top of him when the pair of hips pressed against his ass was not slender and narrow. It was impossible to imagine that the erratic thrusts that made his shoulders dip came from his Austrian lover – no, Roderich's were so much more measured, smooth, precise, perhaps even graceful in a twisted sort of way. "Goddamn it, Ivan," Gilbert grunted, "can't you let me top for once?"

"Fine," Ivan said in a low, husky, slightly irritated voice. He pulled out so abruptly that it almost hurt, and let the weight of his body drop onto the bed next to Gilbert. The smaller man flopped up and down against the mattress at the impact of Ivan's body. Collecting himself, Gilbert picked himself up, placed a knee on either side of the Russian's body, and slid inside. He didn't waste any time and started to thrust in and out immediately. Ah, yes – this was better, much better. Though it still didn't feel quite the same. Ivan's body was just as hot, but not _quite_ as tight, as Roderich's. That didn't stop him from imagining, though. Imagining was the only way Gilbert could do this.

Purple eyes tilted backward to meet Gilbert's gaze. "Aren't you going to touch me?" Ivan said.

Gilbert hadn't realized that he'd put both hands on the Russian's hips in order to slide faster in and out of the body beneath him. "Why should I?" he snapped, irritated that Ivan's voice continued to interrupt his fantasies.

"Gilbert, I'm doing you a favor by letting you top!" Ivan growled. "Just do it!"

Gilbert mouthed the word _fine_ but did not actually speak. His hands curled around Ivan's erection and started to jerk it rhythmically in time with his thrusts. _Don't be so tense, Gilbert,_ he commanded himself silently. _Just think of Roderich. Think of Roderich. Roderich._ So he did. He thought of sliding his cock, already wet and slick with lubricant, inside the Austrian's hot body. He thought of the long sigh he'd make at that sweet feeling of completion. He thought of how he'd pull out and push back in slowly at first, how both bodies would rock back and forth together. He thought of how the motion between them would build, harder, faster, how Roderich would scream Gilbert's name as he came, and how Gilbert would follow him into climax only seconds later.

Ivan sighed and cursed as he came. But Gilbert wasn't paying attention. He wasn't thinking of Ivan at all any longer. He grabbed both the Russian's hips and used them to push in harder, deeper, faster until he came with a strangled gasp of "Roderich."

"_What did you call me?_" Ivan said in a low voice as both bodies' motions ground to a halt.

In that moment, it was as if reality itself had slapped Gilbert in the face. "Wh-wha…" Gilbert started to say, but found that there were really no words he could say to Ivan. Had that _really_ just happened? Had he really just said _Roderich's_ name while he was in bed with Ivan? Thoughts flooded his mind with the force of a tidal wave: _Why did I do this? I'm so stupid! This is wrong, so wrong…he's not Roderich…not Roderich…_ While still inside of Ivan, Gilbert started sobbing in a way that was so sudden he surprised even himself. The tears that rolled down his cheeks mixed with sweat.

"_Bozhe moy,_ Gilbert…" Ivan said under his breath, a touch of sympathy creeping into his voice.

Gilbert didn't so much pull out – more accurately, he fell sideways off of Ivan and lay there curled up on the Russian's bed. All he could think was, _What is _wrong _with me? I was fine up until today…fine, just fine…I'm not allowed to be this weak! Not me! Weakness is for everyone else… _

"Gilbert…Gilbert…" Ivan muttered softly as he patted Gilbert's pale arm awkwardly. The albino slapped Ivan's hand away, just as he had done to Antonio earlier that day, and buried his face into the sheets.

"Get dressed," the Russian said. His words still sounded like a command, but they were softer this time. "I'm taking you home."

Gilbert nodded against the sheets and stood shakily. When he did, his vision became blurry, and the room started swirling around him. He stumbled and thrust both hands out in front of him to catch himself on Ivan's dresser. He managed to make his way to his pile of clothes before he tripped and fell to his knees. Picking himself up, he sorted through the pile and tossed aside Ivan's scarf and pants, and then dressed hurriedly. Ivan dressed just as quickly. The Russian walked to the door, looking as though all that alcohol had absolutely no effect on him, and held it open. Gilbert staggered out the door and almost face-planted as he started down the stairs.

An arm wrapped around his waist. Gilbert leaned against Ivan as he was helped down the stairs. "You are very drunk," Ivan said absently, as if Gilbert needed to be reminded of that. They got back into Ivan's car, and Gilbert pressed his flushed face against the cool glass of the window. Lit buildings and nearly deserted streets flew by outside. He continued to cry quietly. He'd given up for the day. Tomorrow he'd be okay again – tomorrow he'd be himself again.

In a few moments, the motion of Ivan's car halted. Gilbert found himself gazing up at a house that looked just different enough from his own home, but somehow that didn't disturb him. Ivan picked him up off the seat and hauled him toward the door. Ivan knocked. A face poked through the opening. There was a voice that sounded familiar, whose accent matched his own. "Ludwig?" Gilbert mumbled incoherently. He found himself swept up into a strong pair of arms and carried up a darkened staircase. He was set down in an unfamiliar bed – but that didn't matter. It was a bed, and it was soft and warm. Sheets were pulled up around his body. He had no idea what was going on anymore. Still shivering and sobbing, Gilbert started to drift off.

"Sleep, _mein bruder_…" A voice drifted into Gilbert's ear, as if from far away.

"Ludwig?" Gilbert said. No response. Maybe he had only thought his brother's name. Maybe the name hadn't actually found its way form his lips. He heard his brother, talking softly just behind the door, and a Russian accent answering, before he found he could not keep his eyes open any longer.

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**Okay, I'm sorry for this chapter.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love - that is, if you don't hate me for the RusPrus.**


	3. Chapter 3

Gilbert awoke to searing pain that started in his temples and ached all the way across his forehead. When he reluctantly opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar room. He glanced around frantically for a moment, his mind blank, before he recognized this as the home Ludwig shared with his boyfriend Feliciano. Gilbert hadn't slept in this bed in a while. The last time he had was…the night following the accident. Slowly, his memories of the previous day filtered in through his mind. Gilbert shuddered just remembering it all. He felt so awful, so _dirty_…so indescribably dirty.

He propped himself up against the pillows and pressed a hand to the side of his head, hoping that its incessant throbbing would cease. The sounds of footsteps, muffled by carpet, drifted through the still air. Ludwig pushed open the door to the room Gilbert was staying in and poked his head into the open space. "Oh, good, you're awake," he remarked as he walked to the side of the bed, holding a steaming mug that filled the air with the sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee. Usually that scent made Gilbert hungry, as it often accompanied breakfast. But today it just made him feel sick.

"_Good?_" Gilbert shot back, a bit abruptly. "What's good about it? Why in hell am I here?" His headache made him want to do nothing but shut his eyes and go back to sleep. It certainly didn't make him want to deal with people.

"Ivan was worried about you," Ludwig explained. "You were stumbling around last night. He didn't want to leave you alone like that." Ludwig made no mention of Gilbert having slept with Ivan, which the older brother was thankful for. Instead, the younger brother simply set the mug down on the little table next to the bed. "Here, I thought you could use some coffee. Feli's going to make breakfast. You should have some."

Gilbert groaned a little. "Breakfast. God, just that word makes me feel sick. If I eat anything, I think I'll throw up. Ah, my _head._"

"You need to eat something when you're hung over like this," Ludwig said softly. "It will make you feel better. I will bring you some buttered toast and some orange juice, _ja_?"

"Mmhmm," Gilbert mumbled. He stopped himself from nodding in response to his brother's offer, as even the slightest motion of his head made it ache. "Lud, I'm never, _ever_ doing this again," he added as an afterthought. It was more of a promise to himself than to his brother.

Ludwig halted halfway to the door to the room to gaze back at his older brother. "Which part?" he asked calmly.

"All of it. Just…all of it. The part where I get so shitfaced that I make myself feel sick, and especially the part where I sleep with…" Gilbert was about to say _Ivan_, but he reconsidered his sentence halfway through. "…anyone who's not Roderich."

Ludwig nodded but did not reply before he disappeared behind the door. In a few minutes, he returned, with Feliciano trailing after him. "Morning, Gilbert!" the Italian chirped in a voice that was so bright and energized that the sound of it alone made Gilbert's aching head pulse.

"Morning, Feli," Gilbert mumbled in return. Ludwig returned to his brother's side and dumped two Ibuprofen pills into his hand before passing him a glass of orange juice. Gilbert swallowed the pills before he started to munch reluctantly on the two slices of toast Feliciano had carried in on a little plate. When he had finished eating, his stomach felt a bit calmer. His head hurt a bit less.

Reaching out to place a hand on Gilbert's shoulder, Ludwig said, "_Mein bruder,_ I know that this has all been very hard for you, and I'm so sorry that you've had to go through it all. If there is anything that Feli and I can do to help…" He trailed off and paused for a moment, studying Gilbert, the coldness gone from his blue eyes. Instead they held only sympathy. "You can stay here for a while if you want," he continued. "I hate for you to go home to an empty house all this time. Would that be all right with you, _meine liebe?_" Ludwig turned to address Feliciano, smiling as he gave his Italian a kiss on the cheek.

"_Si_, of course!" Feliciano replied with a grin. "As long as you don't mind it when Ludwig and I have se-"

"Feli!" Ludwig interrupted sharply. "So, Gil, you don't have to stay here, but it's just an offer."

"I think I'll take you up on that," Gilbert said with a little laugh. "But mostly because Feliciano is a way better cook than I am!"

Of course, the real reason Gilbert agreed was that he was quite lonely without Roderich around. To make matters worse, his sweet little yellow bird had died only weeks before the accident. Now, all Gilbert could hear when he was home alone were the sounds of traffic moving outside, of the air conditioner whirring as it blasted cold air throughout the house, and of his own breathing. But by the way Feliciano giggled and nearly sang the word "_grazie!_" he couldn't tell Gilbert wasn't completely telling the truth. Ludwig, however, met crimson eyes with his blue ones in a way that made the older brother feel as though Ludwig was staring right through his lie and into his soul. But the younger brother said nothing. He knew better than to step on Gilbert's pride.

"I'll want to go to my house and grab a few things," Gilbert said.

"I'll drive you," Ludwig said.

"And I'll make the crepes while you two are gone!" Feliciano added. "Gilbert, maybe you'll feel well enough by the time you get back to have some!"

Gilbert ran a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to straighten it as he stood, preparing to leave with Ludwig. He couldn't help but smile at Feliciano as he turned to head down the stairs. Even if he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone with that much joyful energy at the moment, he liked the little Italian. He liked how happy Feliciano made Ludwig.

He and Ludwig stopped by Gilbert's house for around half an hour while Gilbert gathered some items of clothing, his laptop computer and iPod, and other necessary items before they drove back to Ludwig and Feliciano's home. As they stepped inside, the sweet smells of baking and of fresh strawberries wafted in the air. The two brothers wandered into the kitchen to find Feliciano carefully peeling the last lightly browned crepe off a crepe maker and filling it with whipped cream and cut strawberries before folding it into a neat wedge. The Italian plopped a little extra whipped cream and a few strawberry slices on top of each crepe before setting the finished products out on the table. They looked as good as Gilbert knew they would taste. Even though Feliciano worked as a chef at one of the nicest restaurants in the city, he never tired of cooking for Ludwig and for any other guests who happened to show up. "So are you going to have one, Gilbert?" Feliciano asked with an expectant grin.

Even though Gilbert's stomach still felt a tad unsteady, he found he couldn't say no to Feliciano. Besides, it had been more than twelve hours since he'd had a full meal, and he knew he should eat more than just one or two pieces of toast. He ate the crepe slowly. Even though it was delicious as always, he didn't tear into it eagerly the way he normally would have. Gilbert tried to smile between bites, but he couldn't think of a good reason to.

In about half an hour, Gilbert discovered that eating the crepes had been a bad decision. When his headache returned, he had slunk back off to bed, weary and unmotivated to do much else, as Ludwig got ready to go to work – a few hours late, since he'd been disturbed at nearly two in the morning the previous night when Ivan had shown up at his door with a very drunk Gilbert. After Gilbert had settled back into the sheets and buried his face into the pillow to block out the painful light that streamed in through his window, his stomach started to feel uncomfortable again. He had just enough time to leap up from the bed, run to the restroom, and drop to his knees in front of the toilet before his stomach emptied its contents. Distantly, Gilbert once again heard the soft sounds of footsteps. Ludwig, who had been straightening his tie and suit jacket in his bedroom before he left for the financial consulting office at which he worked, halted just outside the door to the restroom in time to watch his older brother get up shakily and spit into the sink with a disgusted look on his face. "_Mein bruder,_ I…" Ludwig started to say. He sighed heavily. "Do you need me to stay home with you today? Are you going to be all right?"

"No, go to work," Gilbert said in a hoarse voice. "I don't want to cause you trouble."

Feliciano started to walk by the two brothers. Eyes still aimed forward down the hallway rather than at Ludwig and Gilbert, he said happily, "Who's not going to work? I'll be here all day! I only work the dinner shift tonig-" His apparent obliviousness shattered as he turned to glance at the two. "Oh. Gilbert," he said in a small voice.

Gilbert lifted his eyes to glance at himself briefly in the mirror. He looked even paler than usual – if that was even possible. Dark circles rimmed his crimson eyes. Sighing, he looked away, his eyes moving between Feliciano and Ludwig.

"I'll take care of him, Luddy," Feliciano said firmly. "Go to work. We'll be fine."

"All right," Ludwig conceded. He wrapped both arms around the Italian's waist, pulled him in close, and kissed him. Both pairs of eyes slid shut as Feliciano pressed back against Ludwig's lips. Gilbert sighed sadly as he watched the two. Of course he was happy for his brother. But even with that awful taste still lingering in his mouth, he found himself missing Roderich's lips against his. That longing was even more acute now that he had spent a night feeling the touch of someone else's lips. Yesterday had been filled with nothing but too many shots and too many regrets. "Bye, Feli," Ludwig said once he had pulled away slowly. "I love you."

Ludwig's hand still rested on Feliciano's hip. The Italian covered that hand with his own briefly. "Bye, Luddy. I love you too!" With that, Ludwig turned and headed down the stairs. Gilbert heard the _click_ the door made as it closed behind him, the rumble of an engine, and the sound of tires against road as Ludwig pulled out of the driveway and started toward his office.

Once Ludwig had left, Feliciano linked his hands together and stared at the floor. "I'm sorry, Gilbert," he said. He looked and sounded a bit guilty. "I shouldn't have wanted you to eat those crepes. I just…"

"Feli, it's okay, it's not your fault. I kind of felt like shit anyway," Gilbert said.

"Do you need anything?"

"Not right now. I just want to lie down." Gilbert crawled back into bed for the second time that morning. Though he had slept through the night, he still felt shaky and exhausted. Once his head touched the pillow, sleep came easily. Hours slipped away. Thankfully, Gilbert's sleep was heavy and dreamless. Had he dreamed, he probably would have dreamed of Roderich. In the past, after having slept with Ivan, he had returned home and dreamed that Roderich would walk in on Gilbert to find him pinned against the bed with Ivan fucking him thoroughly. He woke up from those dreams in a cold sweat, and sometimes yelled in his sleep. But today, his sleep was undisturbed. He woke again to the sounds of someone shuffling about in the kitchen downstairs. Did that Italian ever stop cooking? Gilbert rubbed his eyes, rolled over, and glanced at the clock. It was almost one in the afternoon.

Feliciano made his way into Gilbert's room carefully cradling a steaming bowl. "I made you some soup!" he announced. "This shouldn't bother your stomach, Gil."

"Oh, thank you, Feli," Gilbert said as he accepted the soup willingly. Besides, his stomach felt much better by now. He ate and felt even better, though his head still ached. He realized that in a few hours, it would be time to visit Roderich in the hospital. But Gilbert still felt sick. Bright lights made his head hurt. His stomach had mostly settled, though being around sick people might aggravate it again. "Feliciano, do you think it would be bad if…" Gilbert hesitated, feeling a bit guilty that he'd even consider skipping out on his daily visit. "…if I just stayed home today? I mean, I visit Roderich every day, but I just…I still kind of feel like shit."

"No, Gilbert!" Feliciano said, giving him a sympathetic smile. "You're not feeling well. You should just rest today. After all, it's just one day. You're so good about visiting. One day won't hurt." Gilbert nodded, the Italian's words having comforted him only slightly. After Feliciano departed with the empty bowl, Gilbert crawled out of bed and fished through the suitcase he had packed hurriedly that morning to find his laptop. He sat back down on the bed and placed the computer in his lap as he sat propped against the pillows. He started it up, opened his music library, and started to filter through it. When he and Roderich had first moved in together, the Austrian had taken the liberty of putting his entire collection of classical music into Gilbert's music library when Gilbert had stepped away from his computer, in an attempt to get him to listen to it. At first, he wasn't thrilled. Mozart was too dry and stuffy. And what was so great about Beethoven? But as he'd delved further into that playlist, Gilbert had been surprised to find great depth and variety. He enjoyed the more modern composers, such as Stravinsky. Now, Gilbert's eyes scanned the list of songs as he tried to pick out the ones Roderich would have been the most familiar with. He sorted through and found the piano solos and concertos. As his cursor hovered over the first song Gilbert wanted to select, he realized he needed to make a new playlist.

He created the new playlist and paused in an attempt to think of what to call it. When his emotions started to get the better of him, he typed in the empty box, _Please wake up. _

Gilbert erased that text. _Roderich, you left me alone,_ he typed.

He erased the line of text again. _Why is this fucking happening to me?_ he typed.

"Stop it, Gilbert," he thought aloud. He exhaled slowly and typed simply _Roderich. _There. That was perfect. He started adding songs to the new playlist. Mozart. Debussy. Chopin. Ravel. Strauss. Prokofiev. Compositions that Roderich had performed, and others that he simply listened to constantly, savoring the sound of the beautiful notes. Gilbert had to search his computer to find where he had saved the files of Roderich playing the piano. Roderich hadn't added them to Gilbert's music library when he had added the other songs. Later, Gilbert had asked him why. He could hear, as clearly as if it were yesterday, how modest the Austrian had sounded when he'd replied, "You should hear a genuine professional perform these pieces, Gilbert. These pianists do the pieces justice."

And Gilbert had responded with a laugh, "Oh, Roddy, I'm sure you're just as good as those old stuffed shirts." Roderich had gotten flustered and insisted that they were _not_ stuffed shirts – they were the _authority_ on piano performance, and Gilbert ought to respect them.

Gilbert tried to push those memories from his mind as he continue to build the playlist, filling it next with recordings of Roderich playing, just as Elizaveta had suggested. When he'd compiled more than one hundred songs, he decided that was good enough. Except…wait. There was one more song he wanted to add. He scrolled up in his library until he found the song he and Roderich had danced to at their wedding. Against his better judgment, Gilbert hit "play." That song took him back to that day, just under a year ago – the beautiful spring day in late May of last year in which they'd both said "I do." Those memories. Why did they all have to be so vivid, so crystal-clear? They played in Gilbert's mind like a movie…

_Roderich looked so perfect in his crisp white suit. Gilbert had told him he didn't have to wear white. They could both wear black if they wanted. But evidently, when Feliciano, Ludwig, and Roderich's friend Vash had gone with the Austrian to pick out suits, that was what they had decided looked best on him. And Gilbert couldn't agree more. The purple vest Roderich wore underneath the jacket brought out those gorgeous eyes of his. As much as Gilbert liked to tease him about everything – _everything – _he knew he simply couldn't be marrying a more handsome man. _

_He took Roderich's hands in his as they listened to that man go through all the usual formalities. In sickness and in health and blah blah blah. Gilbert thought about how boring and unnecessary it all was. Formalities had seemed to render themselves unnecessary when he thought about the kind of romance they'd had – a romance that had started in animosity. Gilbert wanted so badly to skip to the end and just kiss Roderich (impatient as always…his Austrian would have scolded him for it) that he almost didn't notice when the man had stopped speaking to allow him to say, "I do." He spoke those two tiny words with more confidence than he had ever said anything before in his life. Even more than when he said things like "I'm awesome." And it was funny, because when he and Roderich had first met, the phrase he had felt most confident speaking was "I hate you." _

_Roderich barely had a chance to say "I do" in return before Gilbert leaned forward and kissed him. Their lips met with uncharacteristic softness, and without tongue for once. It just felt natural. Today was special, after all. After they pulled away, Gilbert snuck a glance at Ludwig, who wore a shockingly warm smile. The younger brother's eyes moved between Gilbert and Feliciano. Ludwig had started dating the Italian only a month or two earlier, but they already seemed as though they were perfect for each other. _

_A few hours later, they danced together, foreheads resting against each other, long sighs of something like relief passing between them. Gilbert glanced around to where his hand rested on Roderich's hip and saw the brand-new wedding band on his finger. He regarded it with a kind of wonder. How could all of their arguments have turned into _this? _Later that evening, they wound up shoving cake sloppily into each other's faces, in keeping with the kind of relationship they had – Gilbert started it, of course, but Roderich soon joined in willingly. Some little bits of the cake fell onto Roderich's white suit jacket and dirtied it, but they just laughed it off. Then, they went home and had the most mind-blowing sex Gilbert had ever had in his life. Sure, they'd slept together before but…not quite like that. What made it any different this time? Gilbert couldn't quite figure it out…_

Gilbert sighed and swallowed hard. Somehow, though, he felt surprisingly numb as the song that rose from his computer speakers came to a close. Maybe he had used up all of his tears the previous day. He welcomed that numb feeling. He added the song to his playlist and then sat back, satisfied with the compilation he'd made. Perhaps it would help. He could only hope that it would. He'd load the songs onto his iPod and take it with him tomorrow when he went to visit Roderich.

After shutting down his laptop, Gilbert went downstairs and settled down on the couch next to Feliciano to watch television for a while before the Italian had to leave for work at around four in the afternoon. Feliciano left Gilbert reluctantly, but he wouldn't be alone for long. Ludwig got off work at five. Somewhere in the middle of yet another crime show, the cell phone in Gilbert's pocket rang.

"Hello?" he mumbled tiredly when he answered.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

"That's me," he answered. Had Gilbert been in a good mood, he probably would have instead said _that's my name and don't wear it out._ But he just wasn't in the right mindset to joke around today.

"This is Elizaveta Héderváry from the hospital," said the familiar female voice.

"Oh. Hi. Why are you calling?" Gilbert said. Part of him wondered if she might be calling to tell him Roderich had woken up. But the other part of him was convinced that at this point, it was hopeless. The hopeless part won over as he waited apathetically for her response.

"Are you all right?" Elizaveta asked.

"Why?"

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line. "It's just that…you always visit Roderich at exactly four-thirty in the afternoon," she said. "When you didn't show up, I started to worry."

It was weird to think that this was the first time in two months that Gilbert had missed one of his daily visits. "Oh…" Gilbert said. "I feel really sick today, Elizaveta," he explained. "I don't even want to move. I haven't even gone to work. I'll be there tomorrow, though. I promise." When he spoke those last words, his promise was directed more toward Roderich than to Elizaveta, even though Roderich could not hear him.

Elizaveta sounded slightly startled when she replied, "Okay, well…you'll feel better by tomorrow?" Her surprise was understandable. Up until now, _nothing_ had deterred Gilbert from visiting. Just after the accident in late February, when the weather outside was chilly, he had muddled through an awful cold for a week in order to visit Roderich. No matter how sick, tired, or busy Gilbert was, he always showed up at the same time each day. He felt that he had some sort of duty to be there, even if Roderich wasn't awake to see him.

"Yes. I kind of got drunk last night and now I feel awful. Like, _really_ fucking drunk," Gilbert found himself saying. "Okay, I'm sorry. I just – I'll be there tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Gilbert. Take care of yourself," said Elizaveta.

"Bye, Elizaveta," Gilbert said, and then he hung up. Of course, his hopes had once again been shattered.

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**So. I enjoy writing flashbacks.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, so my first week of college is just about over, and I might have quite the busy semester on my hands. So please don't be shocked or angry if, once I really get into the semester, I don't update for about 2 weeks. Believe me, I'd rather be writing fanfics than studying Spanish and public relations research methods! But such is life.**

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Just as he'd promised, Gilbert returned to the hospital the following day. The visit came after he'd muddled apathetically through a day of work. He'd gone through the motions to complete each task he'd been assigned, but he didn't really try or put any meaningful shade of effort into his actions. What was the point? What was the point or the value in doing _anything_ when his husband was in a coma from which he might never wake, and when he had just cheated on said husband with a man for whom he felt nothing? Nothing but raw lust. Lust that had been wasted on Ivan Braginsky, who probably harbored some sort of secret affection for Alfred F. Jones, that charismatic, if not a bit obnoxious, American man. Gilbert felt that every day since the accident had been wasted somehow, all his actions reduced to triviality, nothing having become of his every effort.

As he walked through the sliding doors into the familiar cool parched air of the hospital, Gilbert's eyes flicked to the date display on his watch. April 21. Two months. It had been two months to the day. Two months ago, he had gotten that phone call that would single-handedly rearrange his whole life, the one in which he was told Roderich had been in a horrific car accident. One phone call. One tiny little phone call. Two minutes long. Two minutes that had the power to turn the two months that followed into one endless nightmare. But armed with a new weapon – an iPod with a freshly created playlist full of Roderich's favorite piano compositions – Gilbert clung to his last hope that the man he loved might finally wake up.

Up the elevator to the third floor. Down the hallway. Eyes aimed ahead instead of at the doors, counting the room numbers in his head. Turn into the sixth room from the elevator. Cue Elizaveta. "Hello, Gilbert, feeling better today?"

"Yes," Gilbert said. Then he paused. "No."

"Really?" the Hungarian nurse said. "Hangovers usually go away by the time…"

"_Physically_, I'm fine," Gilbert interrupted. "Otherwise, not so much." With Elizaveta, there was no point in pretending to be okay any longer. How could he act like everything was okay after he'd broken down in tears during his visit just two days earlier? Besides, Elizaveta didn't know any of Gilbert's friends or family. She couldn't tell Ludwig or Francis or Antonio how weak, how fragile he actually felt right now. She was the only person around whom Gilbert felt comfortable showing his true emotions, because the two interacted only within the context of the hospital.

Gilbert held up the object he clutched in his left hand for Elizaveta to see. "I made a playlist," he announced.

Elizaveta smiled and nodded in approval. "That's good," she said. "Let's hope…" She hesitated, and in that moment of pause, Gilbert saw the look of shaken faith, the look of doubt in the Hungarian's face. That expression seemed to say, _I'm afraid he's getting his hopes up._ How could Gilbert believe in Roderich's recovery if Elizaveta didn't? Maybe he was foolish to think that a few little songs would work like some magic spell, succeeding in rousing Roderich after two months had already slipped away. All of those thoughts ran through his mind in the ephemeral sliver of time before Elizaveta finished her sentence: "…let's hope for the best."

After offering a weak nod, Gilbert circled around to the side of the bed. He leaned in close until his face hovered just inches away from Roderich's, still and peaceful as always, as though he was simply sleeping through the warm afternoon to awaken in time for dinner. But the dark circles that hung like deathly shadows beneath the Austrian's closed eyes, and the hollowed cheeks carved by two months of improper nutrition, told another story. "Hi, Roderich, I'm back," Gilbert whispered. So close, he was so close – the distance between the two so minimal that Gilbert's breath warmed the tip of Roderich's nose – yet so far away. Gilbert felt so separated from the man with whom he had promised to share his life that they might just as well live in different countries. "I'm sorry I didn't come visit you yesterday. That was wrong of me. I won't let it happen again. But I'm here now." He exhaled shakily, fully aware that he was wasting his breath, that the only one who was listening to him talk was himself. "I have some music for you to listen to. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," a voice said.

Gilbert jumped at the suddenness of that voice. His pulse leapt in his chest. He forgot to breathe. But then as he blinked and composed himself, he realized that Roderich was just as motionless as he had been a moment ago. Gilbert whipped around to find two doctors talking casually outside the door. One doctor had simply answered another doctor at a time that coincidentally matched up with Gilbert's rhetorical question. For a moment, he had allowed himself to believe that _Roderich_ had actually responded to him. How empty a hope, how foolish. Feeling nothing but lost and empty inside, he slipped the headphones over Roderich's ears and selected the new playlist. He cranked up the volume until he could faintly hear classical music lilting from the headphones. Gilbert gripped Roderich's limp hand almost too tightly as the sounds of soft piano music drifted in the background. "Please, remember the music, Roderich," he pleaded as he prayed for a miracle.

He sat there for a long time just like that, clutching the cold, bony fingers until the warmth flowed from his own hand into Roderich's. After a while, Gilbert's palm started to feel chilly. He remained bent over the unmoving Austrian so that he could hear one of Chopin's piano solos as it unfolded – the sad sounds of the minor key that seemed to reflect Gilbert's mood that day and many other days since the accident. He sensed that his stay had stretched on longer than it usually did, but he made no move to leave. The only mark of the passage of time was the music. Whenever there was a long pause, and the mood of the music shifted, that meant one song had ended and the next had begun. Elizaveta eventually shuffled out of the room to take care of other patients. Usually, Gilbert left before she did. He had no idea how long he spent rooted to the seat next to Roderich's bed until a brusque voice disturbed the peace of the barely audible classical music and the regular mechanical beeps of the heart monitor in the background.

"Hey! Visiting hours were over twenty minutes ago. Why are you still here?"

Gilbert looked up in surprise to find a male nurse glaring petulantly at Gilbert. "Okay, okay, I'll leave," he conceded, in no mood to argue today. He stood and shot the man an angry stare of his own before departing, iPod in hand. Halfway out the door, Gilbert turned and looked over his shoulder to study Roderich again, whose body was as motionless as ever. Not even the slightest twitch or jerk stirred him. With a long sigh, he retreated back down the hallway from which he came, mind so numb and distracted that he walked straight past the elevator he had ridden every day since the accident and clear into another wing of the hospital. When Gilbert realized that he had walked thoughtlessly past his destination, he looked up in shock and blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes, before he turned on his heel and headed back to the elevator.

When Gilbert slid into the driver's seat of his car in the hospital parking lot, he stared out into space for a moment before turning the key in the ignition. Everything seemed empty today, as though everyone else was living in a movie made in vivid color, but somehow someone had messed up and handed Gilbert the black-and-white version of what should have been a bright and beautiful world. His eyes moved to the steering wheel as an emotion that felt something like hatred flooded his veins. It was a car that had done this to Roderich. A car was the reason he'd been left alone. A car was the reason the comfortable life he'd known had shattered into a million tiny pieces. True, it had also been a car that had brought Gilbert and Roderich together. Gilbert worked as a mechanic in the dealership in which the Austrian had purchased a new, expensive, and beautiful vehicle – yet that beautiful vehicle was also finicky and prone to unreliability. Roderich had to bring his new purchase back to the dealership several times, where Gilbert's capable hands would repair it and hand it back over to the Austrian. Roderich had thought right from the beginning that Gilbert was unconventional and immature. And Gilbert just knew Roderich was stuck-up and pretentious. But somehow – somehow – those feelings of animosity had melted into a strange and crazy relationship, built of teasing and petty arguments, laced with delicious nights of sweat-soaked sex, and culminating with Gilbert dropping down onto one knee, holding out a ring, and glancing up at Roderich with an expectant and slightly nervous look in his eye.

That finicky car had led Gilbert to its equally difficult owner. But a different car – two different cars, to be exact, and ones Gilbert had never laid eyes on – had taken Roderich away just as easily. Gilbert found himself almost wishing that he'd never gotten that job – that he'd never been fascinated with cars as a child. Because then he and Roderich would never have met, and he would have been spared this unbearable heartache. He slammed both fists into his car's steering wheel. "Fuck you!" he yelled. "It was you! You and your kind! Cars are nothing but fucking killing machines!" He continued to pound on the steering wheel until his hands began to ache. Then, Gilbert realized what he was doing. He flushed, guilty, though there was no one around to see him, and let his anger ebb out of him as he stared once again vacantly out into the parking lot. Knowing he had to get home, Gilbert reluctantly turned the key in the ignition. He swore that soon, he'd look for a new job so he could get away from cars as much as possible.

Gilbert returned to Ludwig's home to the sound of the blender whirring. Was…was _Ludwig_ cooking? To his surprise, he found Feliciano bouncing around the kitchen and Ludwig watching with a look of fascination from the kitchen table. "Oh…oh, _ciao_, Feli," Gilbert said, addressing the Italian in his native language. He hadn't expected to see Feliciano home at this hour.

"_Ciao,_ Gil!" Feliciano replied. Then, reading the surprise in Gilbert's expression, he added, "Oh, I only work the lunch shift on Fridays. And it's a good thing, too. Dinner gets so busy that some of the customers get impatient! Some of them can be mean sometimes." Gilbert just couldn't picture how anyone could bear to be rude to someone as sweet as Feliciano.

"I'm making pasta with pesto sauce!" Feliciano announced. He had the evening off from his job as a chef, and yet he was still…cooking. Gilbert couldn't understand how he did it. Of course, there was a time, long before he met Roderich, in which the albino wasn't so different. Even during his time off from the car dealership, he had worked on his own vehicle for fun, adding and adjusting and tweaking until his hands ached and were slick with oil. He had worked on cars in the absence of a lover. It was all he had been able to do to make some of the loneliness go away until Roderich had come into his life, and then his hands had been slick with something else – lubricant. Now he was alone again, but the thought of spending his free time with the type of machine that had put Roderich in a coma made him sick to his stomach.

"That sounds good," Gilbert said with a smile. At least today he was feeling well enough to eat the Italian's wonderful cooking.

* * *

The next day was Saturday. Gilbert had come to hate the weekends almost as much as he hated going to work every day. Work reminded him of the accident. But on the weekends, Gilbert didn't have very much to do. In Roderich's absence, he had no one to pester, no one to tease – well, that wasn't entirely true. He had Francis and Antonio and Feliciano and Ludwig. But it just never felt the same. Francis and Antonio simply laughed good-naturedly along with him. Ludwig often said nothing at all. And Gilbert simply didn't have the heart to say to Feliciano some of the harsh things he said to Roderich, even if they were meant as jokes. So it was on weekends that Gilbert was reminded of just how much he missed his Austrian.

He slept until ten in the morning, stirring only when the bright light flooding through his window became impossible to ignore. Sitting up halfway, Gilbert mumbled a curse under his breath, though he wasn't entirely sure exactly what he was cursing at. Perhaps at the bright light, perhaps at the emptiness of his bed, perhaps at the emptiness of his life. He stood, pushed the door open, and started down the hallway when the sounds of erratic breathing, short grunts, and little whimpers stopped him in his tracks. Without giving it much thought, Gilbert hovered just outside the door to Ludwig's room to listen. Then, added to the soundtrack, the vulgar _smack_ of wet flesh against flesh, growing heavier and shorter by the second. His cheeks flushed bright pink when he realized just what was going on. But for a reason he could not quite describe, he felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, as though he were paralyzed. Gilbert heard Feliciano's voice, higher in pitch and more desperate than he'd ever heard it: "I…nngh…Ludwig…_Ludwig!"_

And then, just seconds later, Ludwig's German accent, which usually matched Gilbert's, sounded so much thicker than usual, as if he'd momentarily forgotten how to speak English. Just what Ludwig muttered in that deep, rough voice, Gilbert couldn't be entirely sure, but it almost sounded like "_meine liebe." _The elder brother sighed, a long, aching sigh, as he forced himself to keep moving forward. He stepped down onto the first stair, trailing his hand along the railing, and sighed again before he walked slowly down the staircase. How nice it must be to make love to the person whom you care about more than anyone else. How nice it _had_ been, though Gilbert was starting to forget what it was like to experience that sweet feeling of completion.

Gilbert made his way into the kitchen and fixed himself breakfast, though by now his appetite had vanished, as it often did. He'd lost a good ten pounds since the accident. It certainly didn't help that there were times in which he sat down to eat and could think of nothing but the delicious cakes Roderich had made for him. Gilbert had never fully appreciated those cakes while Roderich had still been around.

He twirled his spoon around absently in his bowl, having no intention of finishing his food. The _clink_ of the metal against the bowl's ceramic sides was just enough to fill the silence. Ludwig and Feliciano made their way into the kitchen, faces flushed, breaths still shallow and shortened, hair slightly mussed. "I'm starving!" Feliciano announced.

Ludwig chuckled warmly. "Feli, you're _always_ hungry," he said.

"Yes, but I'm _extra_ hungry right now," the Italian said with a little giggle.

Ludwig started to lean in to kiss Feliciano, but halted when he glanced at Gilbert out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, I'm sorry, Gil," he mumbled guiltily as he turned toward his older brother. "Sometimes I forget."

Gilbert realized he must have been eyeing Feliciano and Ludwig with that familiar expression of longing and melancholy, the one that spoke more clearly than words ever could: _I wish Roderich were here so we could do that, too._ "Oh!" Gilbert said with an inflection of faked surprise as he replaced the look of sadness on his face with a grin. "Don't be so sensitive, _mein bruder!_ I was just zoning out a little! _Kesesese!"_ He waited for Ludwig to see through the insincerity of his laugh, of his smile. He almost _wanted_ to Ludwig to see right through his act. But the younger brother simply gave Gilbert another look and shrugged before settling down at the table next to Feliciano.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Feliciano and Ludwig went with Gilbert to the hospital. Once every week or so, the entire group went to visit Roderich, including Francis and Antonio, who would meet the three of them there. The Frenchman and the Spaniard were waiting outside for them as they parked the car and shuffled out into the parking lot. The five exchanged polite hellos and walked in together.

As they passed the front desk, Lili lifted her head and glanced at them. "Oh, Gilbert, you brought the whole gang today!" she said cheerfully.

"Sure did!" Gilbert replied with a laugh. "We are just that awesome!" He always thought the five of them must look rather silly wandering through the hospital, talking loudly about their weeks and making inside jokes back and forth with one another. "Hey, Antonio, when all of us show up, do you ever think the people who work here just say to each other, 'oh great, it's them again'?"

"I bet they do!" Antonio responded with a laugh of his own.

However, they all quieted when they entered Roderich's room. All their expressions turned somber, except for Feliciano, who never seemed to be without a smile. But even the big grin that often graced his face had softened a bit. Gilbert could never forget the first time the Italian had visited Roderich in the hospital. He had never seen Feliciano look so heartbroken in all his life. Those bright brown eyes had slickened, and tears had rolled down his cheeks, before he had collapsed into sobs, seeking refuge in Ludwig's arms. The Vargas family was friendly with the Edelstein family ever since the time Feliciano and Roderich had been young, and on those frequent occasions when Feliciano's parents were away on business, Roderich had watched the young Italian. Feliciano and Ludwig had met because of Gilbert and Roderich's relationship.

This time, of course, there were no tears. After having visited Roderich once a week for two months, Feliciano had slowly become numb to the emotions that had once gripped him. Gilbert had been the opposite. For a while, he had been shocked into numbness. Once the initial shock faded, he just couldn't cry, even when he felt that he wanted to. He had finally cracked three days ago.

As usual, each of them mumbled a few words, mostly along the lines of "Roderich, please wake up soon."

When it was Feliciano's turn, he bent and put his lips nearly against the Austrian's ear as he murmured, "_Per favore, svegliati. Mi manchi. A lui manchi. Manchi a tutti noi_." At the phrase, _a lui manchi,_ Feliciano had tilted his head slightly toward Gilbert. Gilbert had no idea what the Italian had said. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

As Gilbert slipped the headphones over Roderich's ears for the second day in a row, he explained the playlist he had created – and the hope that it would somehow help the Austrian finally wake up. Everyone nodded and spoke little phrases of agreement: "Good idea," and "I hope it works, too." But Gilbert could read the skepticism in Francis' face despite the encouraging tone of voice with which he had responded.

Five minutes had passed when Gilbert announced, "I'm going to use the restroom." It seemed again that he was on autopilot when he made his way to the restroom down the hall. Every day blended into one another in a way that sometimes left Gilbert wondering if it had been two days, two months, or two years since the accident. He used the restroom, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face before heading back.

He heard voices as he again approached Roderich's room. Gilbert's ears caught the din of hushed chatter, so he hovered outside the door, straining to pick up bits of the conversation.

"We should pray for Roderich." Feliciano's voice.

"_Si_," Antonio answered, "but we should also pray for Gilbert. I think he's struggling much more than he lets on." Gilbert had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from huffing audibly at Antonio's words. That was most certainly not true – was it? How did Antonio know? Had someone told the Spaniard what had happened at Ivan's house just a few nights ago?

"I think you're right, _mon ami_," Francis added. "He acts like he is not bothered by all this, but I don't believe it."

"Mmm." The low hum of agreement sounded as though it had come from Ludwig.

"Poor Gilbert!" The high-pitched, worried tone of voice unmistakably belonged to Feliciano. "I know I'd be sad if that happened to me!" There was a brief pause. "Luddy, I don't ever want to lose you."

The conversation was punctuated by the sound of lips meeting lips. "Don't worry, _meine liebe,_ you won't," Ludwig reassured, his words partially muffled. Gilbert could picture his younger brother speaking those words against Feliciano's lips.

Something snapped within Gilbert just then. Was it the way his friends seemed to think he was weak? Or was it the love with which Feliciano and Ludwig treated each other? He didn't quite know. It seemed that lately, he couldn't fully explain why he felt what he felt, or why he did what he did. Things just seemed to…happen, all on their own. What Gilbert did know was that he stormed back into the room and shouted, "Hey! What's wrong with you all? I'm fine! Do you hear me? _Fine!_"

"No, you're not," Antonio insisted gently. "But that's _okay._ Anyone would be sad if they were in your situation. You don't have to-"

"What do _you_ know, anyway?" Gilbert interrupted. "You don't know anything! You should stop making assumptions about things you don't know!"

"Gilbert, shut up! Just stop it!" Ludwig barked in that tone of voice that made him sound like a military officer. The sanctity of the atmosphere was shattered as his booming voice seemed to fill up the entire room. Gilbert wondered vaguely if even Roderich could somehow hear Ludwig. Then, the younger German brother's expression softened. "We're only trying to help you," he added.

Gilbert nodded tensely. Perhaps he _had_ allowed this little charade of apathy to go on for too long. But there was something buried deep inside him that seemed to want to keep him from expressing how he truly felt. It had taken him a long time to admit to _himself_ just how much he missed Roderich, how deeply the accident had affected him. That seemed to be a common characteristic Gilbert shared with his brother – even Roderich was similar to the two Germans in that way. Maybe it had something to do with their Germanic heritage. Or maybe the three of them were simply more similar than they tended to think they were. "You're right," Gilbert said slowly. "I'm sorry I've been snapping at you guys lately. I-I don't really know what's going on."

"That's all right," Francis said. "We understand."

"You can always talk to me," Ludwig added, "about _anything. _I am your brother, after all."

A smile cracked through Gilbert's crestfallen expression. "Thanks, guys," he said apologetically.

"How about we all get an early dinner?" Antonio suggested.

Feliciano frowned. "I have to work the dinner shift tonight," he said regretfully.

"Well then, how about some coffee before you work, _meine liebe_?" Ludwig said. "All of us."

Gilbert found himself smiling genuinely as he followed his friends out of the hospital, turning to reclaim his iPod and mumbling a last goodbye to Roderich before he exited the room. In that moment, he was grateful to have such wonderful friends. Yet they still weren't enough to fill the hole the Austrian's absence had created in Gilbert's life. He'd pretended he didn't need his pianist. He even used to joke with Roderich from time to time, saying, "I can get along just fine myself," but of course that wasn't quite the truth. Looking back on it now, he had to admit that before he and Roderich met, he had been a bit scatterbrained and directionless. Roderich had given order to his life. Without him, Gilbert felt as though he were stumbling through pitch darkness, fumbling uselessly for a light switch, hands meeting nothing but air.

* * *

**In case you'd like to know, Feliciano said, "Please wake up. I miss you. He misses you. We all miss you."**

**Thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, so I don't want to put any author's notes at the end of this chapter for the purpose of effect. So let me just say, thank you in advance for reading, and reviews are love :) Also, you can expect there to be around 15 chapters.**

* * *

The woman scanned the sheet of paper in her hands with a disinterested look in her eyes. She paused and seemed to be re-reading a particular section. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"What?" Gilbert said.

"I was supposed to get a free oil change with this service," she huffed, lifting her gaze to stare directly into his crimson eyes.

"Oil changes don't come with it," Gilbert said, a little abruptly. "_Ma'am_," he added, for the sake of politeness.

She shrugged dramatically. "Well, _your manager_ said it would be included," she told Gilbert, in a tone of voice that suggested the German should be able to read his manager's mind. "Are you stupid or something?"

"He didn't fuc-" Gilbert caught himself before he cursed. There was no telling when his boss could be around, waiting to admonish him for being rude to customers. "He didn't _tell_ me anything about that!" Gilbert responded petulantly, his patience wearing thinner with every word the woman spoke. He had been irritated for about the past week, but today, it seemed that his ability to deal with people had been pushed to its absolute limit. Perhaps it was because he was around cars, the machines he was coming to hate more and more as time went on.

"Well, you had better go and get him! I demand my free oil change!" the woman nearly shouted at Gilbert.

"Well, excuse me, _princess_!" Gilbert shouted right back. He used to sometimes tease Roderich by calling him Princess. Roderich would usually scold him for that, often as a trace of pink crept into his cheeks. But now as that word left Gilbert's tongue, it felt more like an enraged insult than a teasing nickname. "I'm sorry I didn't know about your free fucking oil change! I'm sorry I didn't know you're so much more fucking special than our other customers! They don't get free oil changes! I guess I'll have to make a note of that in my little book, won't I?"

"_Gilbert Beilschmidt!_" a voice roared. Gilbert didn't even have to turn around to know it was his manager. "_You_…are coming with me to my office, right now! Ma'am, I'm truly sorry. Go see Richard and he will see to it that you get your free oil change. Beilschmidt. Now."

A heavy sigh fell from Gilbert's lips as he trailed after his manager. The two walked in silence back inside. He didn't apologize. He wasn't in the mood to hand out apologies. "Sit," the manager commanded once they had arrived in the office. He thrust his pointer finger toward an open chair, which Gilbert sank into, lowering his eyes to the floor to avoid his manager's gaze. "Do you want to tell me what that was all about? Such behavior is unacceptable. I could fire you right now. What happened?"

"I don't know," Gilbert said in an irritated tone of voice that was vaguely reminiscent of a child who was being scolded but who was not yet willing to admit guilt.

"I think I know," the other man said. "Your quality of work has been slipping ever since…ever since the accident." Gilbert looked up and choked back a little noise of surprise. His cheeks suddenly felt hot. "You think I'd forgotten about that?" the manager continued, sounding slightly more sympathetic than he had a moment ago. "You think you've made me believe that it hasn't affected you? You've worked here for five years, Gilbert. You're one of our best. I can tell when you're not doing your best work."

"I…I'm sorry," Gilbert said finally as he linked his hands together in his lap. "I guess…it has affected me, hasn't it? Maybe more than I realized up until now. I really am sorry, sir, but it hurts. To know that I might never get him back." There it was. He'd said it. He hadn't been able to fully admit it until this moment. It had taken him screaming and swearing at a customer to realize it, but that little incident had brought him a moment of startling clarity.

The manager leaned in a little across his desk toward Gilbert, a small and gentle smile gracing his face. "I can't even begin to imagine what that's like," he said. "I'm so sorry, Gilbert, about everything. Everyone at the dealership hopes…well, we hope that it will all work out."

"Thank you," Gilbert replied quietly.

"Why don't you take some time off?" the manager suggested. Gilbert opened his mouth to interrupt. Was he being fired? But before he got the chance to speak, the other man continued. "I'm not firing you, Gilbert. I'm not laying you off, I'm just giving you a vacation. Just a week or two. To clear your head. It might do you some good."

Some time off _would _be nice, just so that he could rest and try to recover a bit. But how was that possible? "But sir, I've already used up all my vacation at Christmas when Roderich and I went to visit…"

"That doesn't matter. I'm giving you some extra vacation. Paid vacation. You need it, Gilbert. Aren't I allowed to help out one of my employees?"

"I…guess," Gilbert mumbled. "Thank you, sir. I suppose I'll just go home now. I'll see you in a week or two."

As Gilbert rose and made his way toward the exit, the manager said, "See you then. Take care of yourself, Gilbert."

_Take care of yourself._ That phrase echoed in Gilbert's head. He couldn't make any promises.

* * *

When Gilbert strode in through the door, Feliciano jumped a little and glanced up from the book he was reading with a look of surprise. "You're home early!" he commented with a smile. "How come? Slow day?"

"My manager said I could go home," Gilbert replied. "I kind of snapped at a customer, so he told me I…"

"Oh no, Gilbert! He didn't fire you, did he?" Feliciano cried as he dropped his book into his lap. "That would be awful! Of course, Luddy and I would help you and-"

"No, he didn't fire me," Gilbert interrupted. "He told me I could take a vacation. But thank you for your concern, Feli." Feliciano really was sweet. He seemed to care about everyone. Gilbert wracked his brain in an attempt to recall a time when he had seen the little Italian act irritated, rude, or angry, but could not bring such a time to mind. Part of him wished he could be a little more like Feliciano.

Today, Gilbert counted the hours until Ludwig came home. He had decided that at this point, it was unhealthy to simply ignore the emotions he felt. He had to talk to _someone._ And who could be better than his little brother? It seemed that even though Gilbert was older, Ludwig was the one who had to keep him in line. Sometimes, he wished it didn't have to be that way. Sometimes, he wished he could be more responsible, more intelligent, more independent, _more like Ludwig._ "But Roderich didn't fall in love with Ludwig," Gilbert thought aloud. That was true. Somehow, against all odds, Roderich had wanted _Gilbert,_ and no one else. Roderich, the calm and talented pianist with a fancy car and an even fancier house, had wanted him. Roderich, who had a degree in music from a fine university and an air of poise and elegance about him, had wanted the college dropout who always came home smelling of oil and who tracked dirt through the house on a frequent basis. It was still a little hard to believe. "Why me?" Gilbert asked himself.

"What's that?"

Gilbert twisted halfway around in his seat at the couch to find Ludwig standing in the doorway. The younger brother looked at him with a confused expression. "Why me, Ludwig?" Gilbert said, this time addressing his brother rather than himself. "Why would Roderich want me?"

Ludwig settled down onto the couch next to Gilbert. "You really don't know why?" he said.

Gilbert shrugged and smiled wryly. "Nope, no idea," he said. "I…I'm dumbfounded. I mean, he's so…and I'm so…" He struggled to find the right words with which to describe the differences between himself and Roderich. _He's so perfect and I'm so idiotic,_ Gilbert thought. But instead of speaking what was on his mind, he glanced nervously up at Ludwig and started to bite his lip.

"Maybe it's because…" Ludwig paused as his cheeks flushed slightly. "_Mein Gott,_ I cannot believe I'm about to say this."

Laughing, Gilbert nudged his brother in the side with his elbow. "Say what? Go ahead. Say it. I am awesome, after all."

"Well, you can sometimes be…charming, in an odd sort of way," Ludwig said, a bit awkwardly.

"Hah, I knew it!" Gilbert shot back. "I mean…you think?" Before he gave the younger brother a chance to respond, Gilbert blurted, "Ludwig, I think I do want to talk."

Though Ludwig looked a little surprised at the suddenness with which Gilbert spoke those words, he said, "Of course, _mein bruder. _Anytime."

"I just feel...so…alone," Gilbert said slowly. His gaze shifted between his brother and the floor. It was the first time in a long time he had admitted weakness to someone he had a close relationship with – other than perhaps Roderich. After the two had been together for a while, Gilbert found himself telling Roderich things he had never even told his own brother. Perhaps that was because the Austrian had a miraculous way of seeing right through his overconfident exterior. He'd always scrutinized Gilbert with a shade of skepticism every time the German announced, "I'm awesome!" Those amethyst eyes would probe deep into crimson ones, searching them relentlessly, until Gilbert ended up telling Roderich just what was on his mind. Roderich was the only one who could intimidate and encourage him at the same time.

"You've got me and Feliciano and your friends Antonio and Francis," Ludwig said. But when he caught the look of emptiness and abandonment in those bright red eyes, he added quickly, "but of course, it's not the same, I know. You can't love any of us the way you loved Roderich."

Gilbert arched one pale eyebrow. "I tried that with Ivan. Doesn't work." He shook his head and laughed a little at himself. Ludwig, however, remained stony-faced, with somber yet sympathetic blue eyes fixed on his brother. Changing the topic, Gilbert continued: "But then I see you and Feli, and it's like the two of you _complete_ each other, and it just reminds me that I have this…this…" Gilbert waved his hands in the air as he faltered over his words. He wasn't used to describing what he felt like this. "I have this…like, big fucking _hole_ in my life now and…"

"_Mein bruder,_ I'm so sorry about that," Ludwig said. "It's my fault. I forget sometimes. Maybe Feliciano and I should not kiss so much in front of you."

Gilbert laughed again. This time, it was a painful, almost sickly ironic laugh. "_Nein!_ I don't want you to stop being…_you_ for my sake. I'm glad you and Feli are happy together. I want my brother to be happy. I…just…it's stupid really."

"What is?"

"How you never realize how much you appreciate something until it's gone," Gilbert said, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "I know it's a cliché or whatever, but it's true. I mean, I've known for a long time that I love Roderich. If I didn't know that, I wouldn't have gotten down on my fucking knee and proposed. But I never realized how deep it was until now." By now, he had chewed his lip so much it was a little raw. Why was it difficult to talk to Ludwig like this? He knew his brother wouldn't judge him. Did it really hurt his pride that much to admit that he wasn't an impenetrable fortress of strength and self-declared awesomeness? He furiously blinked back the tears that glistened in his eyes. _No. Stop it. No crying. Not today,_ he commanded himself inwardly. He drew in a shaky breath and was able to calm himself down before he continued speaking. "That's not even the worst part, Ludwig. The worst part is that I might never get to tell him what I'm telling you now. If I lose him, he'll never know just how much I care."

A big, strong hand fell on Gilbert's shoulder. This time, the older brother made no move to shove it away. "Gilbert…" Ludwig smiled at him softly, sadly. "Don't lose faith. You know he can still wake up. There are stories like that on the news sometimes. Hey, us Beilschmidts, we don't give up, right?"

"Right," Gilbert said, smiling weakly back at Ludwig.

"I'm glad you're finally talking to me like this," Ludwig commented with a nod. "I think it's a good thing. Any time you need to talk, I will listen. I'm sure Antonio and Francis would, too. I don't know why you're so reluctant to talk, but I can promise you that none of us will think any less of you."

Gilbert let a heavy sigh fall from his lips. He'd known all along that his friends wouldn't judge him, but Ludwig's words had cemented the reality of that notion.

* * *

Another week and a half passed. Every day, Gilbert visited the hospital. Every day, Gilbert played music for Roderich and prayed that he would feel the Austrian squeeze his hand back. Every day, he was sorely disappointed. And every day, he started to lose hope. Almost two and a half months had slipped by since the accident. It was amazing to Gilbert how life continued around him. More flowers poked out of the ground each day. The air continued to warm as spring continued its advancement, banishing the chill of winter until the frigid temperatures were little more than dismal memories. People went by in cars and in taxis and on foot to their jobs and to restaurants. Tourists filtered in and out of the city. Everything was as if nothing had changed. The world continued to rotate and revolve every day as though one of its fine pianists had never ceased to grace it with his presence. It was strange that on the outside, everything had stayed the same, because on the inside, Gilbert felt different. Maybe "empty" was the right word. Or perhaps "broken," or even "shattered."

On Friday, May 4, Gilbert almost skipped his daily visit to the hospital. What was the point? Roderich wouldn't be awake when he arrived. Visiting would inspire Gilbert to hope, only to have those hopes crumble right before his eyes when Roderich inevitably remained motionless. Wouldn't it be better to just stay away, to remain curled up on the couch, staring into nothingness and feeling sorry for himself? If Gilbert expected nothing, he would not be disappointed when he received nothing in return. He usually left for the hospital around 4:00 in the afternoon. Today, he let the minutes slide by while gazing languidly out the window, watching a few pigeons circle in the cloud-dotted blue sky. Then, when the clock read 4:23, he suddenly felt guilty. The last time he had skipped a visit, it had been because he was hung over and rueful for having spent a night drinking with – and sleeping with – Ivan Braginsky. That day, he had promised he would never again miss a visit. Wearily, Gilbert stood, brushed the wrinkles out of his t-shirt, and made his way out of Ludwig's home.

The city streets were busy. Weekend festivities were starting early. People were already leaving work and heading to bars and restaurants. Gilbert threaded through throngs of people who were hurrying or smiling or laughing or just living their blissfully normal lives. He lowered his eyes in order to avoid looking into their uninterested faces. He was jealous of how unburdened they all looked to be. Though he knew better, it just seemed as though everyone was happier than he was, that everyone had it easier than he did. Every day, Gilbert passed by hundreds of people who he was sure had no idea what it was like to be him: to be able to stare into the face of the man he loved, but to be unable to hold him or kiss him for real.

Before heading to the hospital, Gilbert pushed open the doors to the coffee shop. He made his way to the counter and ordered himself a rare treat: a flavored latté. Usually, he drank only black coffee, but once in a while, he liked to indulge in a sugary coffee drink. He was always alone when he ordered such a drink, because he was convinced that Francis and Antonio would tease him for ordering something so sweet and girly. Gilbert's steps led him back onto the packed sidewalk as he sipped at his caramel macchiato. He walked more slowly than usual. He felt as though he wanted to delay his arrival at the hospital as much as possible, for that place was nothing more than a graveyard for his most desperate hopes. A man in a tidy suit who walked quickly, pumping his arms and swinging his briefcase as he moved, darted around passersby and slammed right into Gilbert. Coffee sloshed out of the German's cup and onto his hand. "Hey, you wanna watch where you're going?" Gilbert barked.

The man didn't respond. He didn't even look back at Gilbert; he just kept jogging toward his destination. For some reason, Gilbert wanted that stuffed shirt to yell right back at him. Maybe it was because that was what Roderich would have done.

When Gilbert entered Roderich's room in the hospital, Elizaveta looked up at him in shock, as though he were a ghost. "Oh…you're here," she said. "You're a little late."

"Yeah, well," Gilbert said lazily, waving off Elizaveta's comment. He slumped into the chair next to Roderich's bed and sat for a moment, slowly sipping the last of his coffee. He didn't offer Roderich his usual greeting or his usual plea to wake up. What was the point? The Austrian couldn't hear him. He'd just be wasting his breath. Almost mechanically, as though it was some sort of inescapable duty, Gilbert slipped the headphones over Roderich's ears and selected the playlist. He took the limp hand in his and curled his fingers around it. So pale, so dry, so cold. Gilbert would give every possession he owned to feel Roderich thread their fingers together, get up, and walk home with him. But all the money and all the possessions in the world couldn't bring him back. All that could was sheer luck. And Gilbert felt as though he had not been very lucky lately.

Elizaveta didn't speak to Gilbert today. It was as if she could feel the wall that the German had put up around him as strongly as though that wall was real rather than imaginary. Certainly, there was distance and coldness in Gilbert's eyes and in his very presence today, and he knew it. But he didn't care. What did it matter? What did anything matter? Like a child waiting for his least favorite class to end, Gilbert watched the clock restlessly. He'd leave after half an hour. Today, it seemed as though time passed at a painfully slow rate. He decided that tomorrow, he wouldn't come visit. Maybe from now on, he'd only come every other day. Eventually, he thought, he would only come once a week. Roderich wouldn't know, so what difference would it make?

Seventeen minutes had passed. Gilbert counted every single minute that slipped away. Elizaveta had left unusually early to take care of other patients. Gilbert had apparently made it clear to her that he didn't want her around. He felt a bit guilty for behaving so coldly toward her, but he mostly just felt nothing. When an eerie silence, interrupted by only the beeps of the heart monitor, had engulfed the room, Gilbert felt something that nearly stopped his heart.

The slight pressure of a grip on his hand.

The German froze in place, afraid to move, afraid to blink. Had he imagined that? His eyes shifted to Roderich's hand in time to see the Austrian's pinky finger wiggle slightly. No, it had not been his imagination. Gilbert's breaths were so shortened and his heartbeats so erratic that he felt he might pass out. Then, a pair of eyelids slid open slowly and wearily, and Gilbert found himself staring into the gorgeous purple eyes he had so desperately ached to see for the past two and a half months.


	6. Chapter 6

"I…hear…music," a thin, hoarse voice whispered. The Austrian accent that usually graced Roderich's voice had been dimmed by months of breathing cool, dry hospital air.

An unstoppable smile surfaced to Gilbert's lips, one that he did not try to hide or control. He wasn't sure if he wanted to scream, cry, or just pass out and collapse onto the floor. He refused to let go of Roderich's hand. He pressed his free hand against the hospital bed for support. Literally shaking from shock and happiness, he managed to say, "Yes, that's right, Roderich, the music…"

"I hear Mozart," Roderich said, blinking as his eyes shifted slowly to survey his surroundings. He let out a low, exhausted groan and started to lift his free hand. Weakened from lack of use, his arm shook and fell uselessly back against the mattress. Roderich glared at his limp arm, almost as if it were a child who had just done something bad.

"Yes, that's right, baby, it's Mozart," Gilbert said, his voice quivering as he spoke. He patted Roderich's hand a few times.

The Austrian's amethyst eyes moved in slow motion to the hand gripping his. He tugged at Gilbert's hand as though he was trying to jerk away from the other man's touch, but he was too weak to do so. "Who are you, and why in the world are you calling me 'baby'?" he said.

Gilbert dropped Roderich's hand. The initial joy that had filled him when the Austrian had opened his eyes evaporated into nothingness, like a single droplet of water on black macadam on a scorching summer day. "Wh-what?" he stammered. "What do you mean?" Don't you know me?"

Roderich scrutinized Gilbert intensely, as though he were trying to summon memories of the German's face from the recesses of his mind. He blinked and managed to lift a hand to rub his eyes. "Hmm," he hummed in a low voice. "I am fairly certain I have never seen you before in my life," he replied at last, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

"Roderich…what…I…" Gilbert sputtered, trying to organize his thoughts into a somewhat coherent sentence. This was the moment he'd been dreaming of for two and a half months – the moment in which Roderich would at last open his eyes – and now the Austrian didn't even recognize him. "Look, Roderich," he said firmly. "Look at the ring on your finger. How do you think it got there?" The Austrian opened his mouth to respond, but Gilbert didn't allow him to speak. "I put it there! I put it there! You want to know why?" he said, the subdued tones of his voice rising until he was shouting. Again, Gilbert didn't give Roderich the chance to respond. "We're married! You don't remember that?"

His voice softened again as he turned pleading, desperate crimson eyes toward Roderich, who looked startled, confused, and exhausted all at once. "Roddy, please. There are letters etched on the insides of our wedding bands. What are the letters? What does it say? Can you remember?"

Roderich started to slide the ring off his finger. "No, don't look! That's cheating!" Gilbert snapped. Then, he silently admonished himself for being so abrupt with the Austrian.

"I'm sorry," Roderich said wearily as he let his eyelids slide shut again. "I simply don't recall. I don't recall you or…whatever is inscribed on the inside of this ring I'm wearing. I'm sorry if that upsets you, because I don't even recall your name."

"God fucking damnit, my name is Gilbert! I…"

"Go easy on him, Gil. He just woke up," Elizaveta's soft voice interrupted. Gilbert turned around to see the Hungarian nurse standing in the doorway. He wondered just how much of that she'd seen and heard. She might have been standing there the entire time. Gilbert wouldn't have noticed.

Nodding Gilbert realized Elizaveta was probably right. He would just have to give it some time. At least Roderich was awake. That was half the battle. "I suppose so, Elizaveta," he said with a conciliatory air. He then turned to the Austrian, who was shifting around at a painfully slow pace in the hospital bed, sheets barely rustling along with the minimal movements of his body. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Roderich," he said.

One amethyst eye snapped open to glance at Gilbert. "It's all right, I suppose," he replied sleepily. "I'm just tired now."

Elizaveta stepped forward and lightly touched Gilbert's arm. "Gilbert, why don't you go home and get some rest?" she suggested. "We'd like to keep Roderich here for a few more days just to make sure he's all right, and then you can come take him home. Maybe by the time you come back, he'll remember you. If not, being around familiar things might help him. All right?"

Gilbert nodded again, torn between happiness and disappointment in a way that he could never find the words to describe. But for the first time in a long time, his hope had been restored. The Hungarian nurse was probably right. It would probably take a few days for Roderich's mind to recover from two months of inactivity, and then everything would go back to normal, and Gilbert would have his Austrian back. "Okay, Elizaveta," he said slowly, "I'll see you in a while, then." He turned and started to make his way back out the door. Before leaving, he turned to glance back at Roderich one more time. "Roderich – good-bye," he added, almost regretfully, before his steps led him once again toward the hospital's main entrance.

* * *

Gilbert stepped back out onto the street corner. The number of people making their way down sidewalks and across streets was the same as it had been earlier, but everything felt different now. Roderich was awake. Gilbert was delirious with happiness, yet stricken with disappointment, all at the same time. He could barely think as his steps took him home. His hands shook, so he stuffed them into his pockets. Since he was feeling a little lightheaded, he wondered what would happen if he just passed out on the sidewalk. It was likely that he'd just wind up back at the hospital at which Roderich was staying. Gilbert forced himself to take deep breaths as he walked the remaining distance to Ludwig's house.

When he pushed the front door open, Gilbert trudged into the living room and sank down weakly into the big chair next to the television. Ludwig, who had been sitting the kitchen watching Feliciano cook, wandered into the room and stared at his brother. "Gilbert, are you okay?" he said. "You look pale. Paler than usual, that is. How was your visit today?"

"He…he woke up," Gilbert said in a monotonous voice. "Ludwig, he woke up."

"Really, Gilbert? That's great! That's amazing!" Ludwig shouted. He threw his arms around his younger brother and held him tightly before he realized that Gilbert didn't seem to be rejoicing. "Oh, Gil, don't look _too_ happy," he joked, and chuckled lightly. Gilbert didn't laugh. He didn't smile. He remained frozen in Ludwig's arms. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to celebrate, or just feel sorry for himself. "Is…is something wrong?" Ludwig asked, peering into crimson eyes with concern.

"He doesn't remember me," Gilbert muttered.

Ludwig stopped squeezing Gilbert. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, he woke up and he didn't recognize my face. He didn't even know my name. It's like…he never knew me at all," Gilbert replied. He had expected to feel so complete when Roderich came back into his life. But in reality, he still felt almost as empty as he had before. He knew he could never feel like himself again until he could hear Roderich say "I love you."

"Oh…_Mein Gott,_ Gilbert, that's awful," Ludwig said, and patted Gilbert on the back a few times, still holding him close. "I-I don't know what to say. I'm sure he'll remember you soon enough."

"I hope so," Gilbert said. In reality, however, the past two and a half months hadn't left him feeling very hopeful at all.

That night, Gilbert tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. A million thoughts ran through his head, chasing away even the most fleeting chance that he might find peace. He tried to convince himself that soon, everything would go back to normal. Soon, Roderich would be home. Soon, Roderich would remember him, and then everything would be okay. He tried to picture what it would be like when the Austrian would finally remember him, when there was finally a glimmer of recognition in those gorgeous purple eyes. Gilbert would kiss Roderich in that moment, hold him for a long time, and promise to be a better man and a better husband. Then, Gilbert could only hope that they'd wind up in bed together. So long, it had been so long. Gilbert was so close to having Roderich home again, and yet his Austrian might not even remember him by the time he was released from the hospital.

When he finally found sleep close to 4 a.m., even his dreams were not left undisturbed. For a while, he slept soundly. But then, images Gilbert desperately wanted to forget invaded his sleep…

_Ivan had him pinned down against the bed. The Russian's breath was hot on the back of his neck. Sweat was already dripping from Gilbert's forehead, moistening his pale skin. Ivan grabbed onto both Gilbert's hips and pushed hard inside the albino. Without another moment of hesitation, he pulled out and thrust back in. Gilbert, powerless to do anything else, remained frozen underneath the huge Russian and let the bigger man fuck him thoroughly. He whimpered as he was pushed closer and closer to the sweet, blissful oblivion of orgasm…_

_The door clicked. It was a sound Gilbert barely heard, as though it had come from miles away. He lifted his head to see Roderich standing in the doorway. As he watched Ivan pound Gilbert mercilessly into the mattress, a look of utter disgust crossed his face. "R-Roderich," Gilbert stammered in between shallow breaths. "I-I can explain…"_

"_No, you can't!" Roderich shouted. "Nothing you can possibly say can explain _this. _I trusted you, Gilbert Beilschmidt. I trusted you to be faithful while I was away. And now I'm back again, and I find you in bed with this…this _Russian." _Ivan's eyes flashed indignantly. But Roderich ignored him. "You really are a fucking idiot, Gilbert," he said coldly, and turned on his heel, retreating back down the hallway. _

_Miraculously, Gilbert managed to pry himself up from under Ivan's body with frantic, labored motions. He leapt to his feet and ran after Roderich. "Roddy, wait! I mean, Roderich! I mean, baby! Please come back. I'm sorry! I'll never do it again…"_

"_You lost your chance, Gilbert," Roderich said. Gilbert reached out and grabbed onto the Austrian's shirt. But Roderich evaporated into thin air before his eyes, leaving him clutching at nothing but air…_

"Roderich, wait!" Gilbert yelled as he sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he realized it had all been a dream. He was cold with sweat. Shivers ran through his body, and he sank back down into the sheets and pulled the covers up over himself. Rolling over lazily to face the clock, Gilbert saw that it was 5:43 a.m. He groaned, shut his eyes, and tried to fall back asleep. But thoughts of Roderich clouded his mind, and it took another hour or two for him to drift off once again.

* * *

Late on Wednesday evening, Gilbert got a phone call from Elizaveta. She said he could come pick Roderich up the next morning. For a moment, he was hopeful again. "Did he ask about me?" he said eagerly to the Hungarian nurse.

There was a long pause in which Gilbert could feel his heart sink in his chest. "No, I'm afraid not," she replied at last. "But maybe that will change when you arrive tomorrow, or when you bring him home."

Gilbert barely slept again that night. He awoke early Thursday morning, packed his things, and left Ludwig's home. It was odd to think that after almost three weeks, he'd finally return to his own home. It was even odder to think that after almost three months, he'd be able to take Roderich home with him. "I hope he remembers me," he muttered halfheartedly under his breath as he drove to the hospital. He took the elevator, as always, and walked into Roderich's room. This time, however, he found the man he loved sitting propped up against stiff hospital pillows, squinting as the light assaulted his tired-looking eyes. He looked as though he had just woken up. Elizaveta was nowhere to be found. Instead, one of the hospital's residents shuffled around the room, checking on Roderich one last time before he'd go home. Gilbert recognized the woman as one of the staff members who'd been in the emergency room with Roderich on the night of the accident. "Oh, hello," she said as she turned to face him. "You're…Gilbert, right?"

"Yes, Doctor…"

"Call me Bella," she said with a smile.

"Okay, Bella," Gilbert said. "I can take him home now, right?"

"Yes, of course," she replied.

Gilbert circled around the hospital bed and stood next to Roderich. He bent toward the Austrian and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Roderich, do…do you remember me now?" he asked tentatively, afraid of what Roderich's response might be.

Roderich blinked steadily and looked as though he was straining to recall Gilbert's face. "I think you are the man who was here when I woke up the other day," he said at last, in the same thin, raspy voice with which he had spoken a few days ago. He spoke slowly, thoughtfully. Each word that fell from his lips sounded as though it took great effort to pronounce. "You told me we are married. Am I correct?"

Whatever hope Gilbert had retained that Roderich might remember him today shattered right before his eyes. "Yes, I'm…that's right…" he said.

"You _are_ married." A familiar voice interrupted Gilbert. The silver-haired man glanced over his shoulder to see Elizaveta standing in the doorway with a tentative smile on her face. "Try to remember your husband, Roderich."

Roderich squeezed his eyes tightly shut, brows furrowed, lips moving noiselessly. When he opened his eyes again to study Gilbert, Elizaveta, and Bella, he shook his head ruefully. "I'm…sorry…I can't," he said haltingly. "I'm sorry."

As she walked into the room to join Gilbert, Elizaveta said, "Don't worry, Roderich. Don't strain yourself. It will all come with time. I know it's difficult, but be patient."

"Elizaveta, you're here," Gilbert said, his gaze shifting from Roderich to the Hungarian nurse.

"Of course I am, honey! I had to say goodbye to Roderich. And to you." She patted Gilbert's arm, leaned in close, and whispered into his ear, "You need to be patient too, Gilbert. I'm sure once he's home again, it will all start to come back to him." Though he wasn't fully reassured, Gilbert nodded and tried to smile back.

"Lizzy!" Bella called to the Hungarian nurse.

"Oh, hey, sweetie," Elizaveta replied. "I knew you'd be here, too!" Bella wandered over to join the two and gave Elizaveta a quick peck on the lips. Gilbert rose both eyebrows and snuck a furtive glance at the two before his eyes settled back on Roderich. Though the Austrian was still abnormally pale and thin, he looked a little more normal now that he was wearing his glasses again.

Now that Bella had finished checking up on Roderich one last time, Gilbert could finally take his Austrian home with him, after nearly three months. With the help of Bella and Elizaveta, Roderich stood shakily, wobbling like a child taking his first few steps. Even though both women helped to hold him up, he nearly sank to his knees. Gilbert wound an arm around Roderich's waist as Bella slipped away, bid them farewell, and left to attend to other patients. Elizaveta helped Gilbert walk Roderich to the car. Nurses probably didn't do such things on a regular basis, nor did they usually get so invested in one particular patient's well being. But as she had watched Gilbert's emotional state deteriorate over the three months since the accident, she'd come to care about him and the man he loved.

When they reached Gilbert's car, it had at last come time for Elizaveta to say goodbye to both men. "Bye, Roderich," she said. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay," Roderich replied weakly. "And thank you, Elizaveta. I wish I knew all you've done for me so I could properly thank you."

"Don't worry about it, honey!" she said. "Goodbye, Gilbert. And…this is important. When you get home, it's important to treat Roderich just as you did before the accident. Don't be soft on him just because you missed him. You told me the two of you used to tease each other sometimes?"

Gilbert chuckled as the first genuine smile of the day crossed his face. "_Sometimes_ would be an understatement," he said. Elizaveta's words summoned so many memories to the forefront of Gilbert's mind. Oh, the things they would call each other, the things they would say to each other. They often spoke and acted with no other goal in mind but to irritate each other.

"Well then, you've got to tease him just like you always would," Elizaveta said. "It may help to jog his memory. Call him Specs or whatever it was you said you called him."

Roderich lifted his head instantly and glared at Gilbert. "No one calls me Specs!" he asserted petulantly. Gilbert couldn't help but laugh again. He had seen just a little glimmer of the Roderich he knew and loved. It eased his worries a bit that the Austrian's personality might have stayed the same, even if his memory had been temporarily altered.

"Good luck to you both!" Elizaveta added. She gave Gilbert a hug before he and Roderich got into the car. They drove away from the hospital in complete silence. Gilbert didn't know what, if anything, he should say. He wanted so desperately to tell Roderich that he'd missed him, and that he'd spent many sleepless nights praying this day would come. But the Austrian was still recovering, and Gilbert decided it might be too much for his weakened mind to handle. So he remained silent and tried to focus on driving. Roderich's eyes darted about rapidly as he took in his surroundings like an awestruck child who had embarked on a road trip to an exciting new destination. He made no move to speak, either. But then again, what do you say to a man you don't recognize or remember?

In about fifteen minutes, they arrived at the home they shared. Gilbert helped Roderich out of the car and onto the couch in the living room. He promised he'd be back in a moment, and slipped back outside to unload the suitcase he'd kept at Ludwig's house for a few weeks. When he returned, he found Roderich trailing a hand inquisitively over the end tables and peering around at the house as though he'd never been there before. His gaze never seemed to settle on one thing before it moved on. "Roderich…" Gilbert almost whispered as he sat next to the man he loved.

The Austrian's eyes snapped to Gilbert and studied him laboriously for a moment. "Did I live here or something?" he said.

"Yes, for several years, actually," Gilbert replied. It was ironic that Roderich wouldn't even remember his own home. Gilbert had moved in with Roderich once they had gotten serious. The albino had been living in an old, cramped apartment, despite Ludwig's constant offers to come live with him instead. To him, living with his younger brother would have been like admitting to his entire family – and to himself – that he was the inferior child, even though he was older.

"Oh…" Roderich said, his expression empty and unreadable. Gilbert caught himself sighing. Did Roderich remember _anything at all?_ "Gilbert, do you have any tea?" the Austrian said suddenly. "I think I might like some."

"You…you like tea?" Gilbert stammered. He peered expectantly at Roderich as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch.

Roderich waved his hand halfheartedly in the air. "Of course I like tea. I've always liked tea," he responded in a cool, even tone of voice. Somehow, Roderich remembered his favorite beverage, but he didn't remember anything about Gilbert beyond what Elizaveta had told him. Gilbert nodded sullenly and retreated into the kitchen to prepare some hot tea, staring at the ground rather than watching where he was going. He bumped into the edge of the counter and yelped as he looked up and glowered at it. As he started to heat some water, he started to feel slightly encouraged that Roderich remembered he liked tea, even if he didn't yet remember Gilbert. It meant that his mind was still at least somewhat functional.

Carrying two cups of hot tea, Gilbert made his way back to the couch and passed a cup to Roderich, who thanked him politely. They sat sipping the steaming liquid without speaking to each other. Gilbert snuck glances at Roderich between sips. The Austrian, however, stared into his cup and swirled his tea around absently. Normally, Gilbert didn't really like to drink tea. But he figured it might help soothe his nerves and calm the worries that constantly flooded his mind. Roderich didn't seem to notice. When the silver-haired man drained the last dredges of tea from his cup, he fixed his gaze on the Austrian, eyes following every movement the man made. The way he lifted his cup to his lips was still elegant and poised, even though his hand shook a bit, and even though his fingers were melted to the bone. Gilbert's eyes moved back and forth, back and forth, in time with the motion of Roderich's hand. He was fascinated with the way the man who had been motionless for months had suddenly been re-animated. It was all so strange and sad and beautiful at the same time.

When Roderich finished his tea and leaned back into the couch, Gilbert stared into purple eyes for a long moment and then leaned forward, closing the space between them until their lips met. For an ephemeral moment, the pair of lips against his was warm, responsive, and _alive_. Then, the albino felt a flattened palm press against his chest. With every once of strength the Austrian could muster, he shoved Gilbert away before his own body collapsed into the couch. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as though he'd just finished sprinting. Purple eyes bore into crimson ones. "Don't kiss me! I don't know you!" he snapped. "You are so incredibly crass. Do you know that?"

"I…" Gilbert's fingers curled into the fabric of the couch as he dropped his eyes to the carpet. "You've actually called me that before. Several times."

"I have?" Roderich said. "I don't recall."

"Yeah," Gilbert replied monotonously.

Roderich used his pointer finger to push his glasses back into place, which had been skewed at some point during the brief kiss. "Well, honestly, I'm not surprised. 'Crass' is absolutely the perfect word to describe you."

After Gilbert had shuffled back into the kitchen and put the teacups into the sink, he helped Roderich up the stairs, a process that took about two full minutes. To keep himself from slipping, Roderich clung to Gilbert's hip so tightly that it hurt. Finally, Gilbert got to hold his Austrian in his arms again. But, like every moment since Roderich had woken up, the moment was bittersweet. Roderich would allow the albino to touch him like this only when it was absolutely necessary.

Roderich settled back into bed, exhausted, even though he'd been away from the hospital for only about an hour. "This house had better have a guest bedroom," he murmured after he'd shifted in bed, gotten comfortable, and closed his eyes.

"Of course it does," Gilbert replied. "But why?"

"Because that's where you're sleeping tonight."

_Of course._ Gilbert said nothing else and slunk out of the room. He hovered outside the door for a moment. When he heard Roderich's breaths become heavy and even, he slipped back into the room and found the Austrian asleep with his glasses still on. He bent and kissed Roderich's cheek. "Sleep well, Specs," he whispered as he pulled the glasses away from the other man's face and set them on the nightstand beside the bed before retreating downstairs. Today hadn't gone exactly as he'd dreamed it would. But at least Roderich's skin felt warm against his lips once more.

* * *

**So…congrats, lovely reviewers, because one or two of you successfully predicted that this would happen!**

**Oh, and I'm SO SORRY it took so long for me to update this story. I had inspiration for another PruAus fic. And then school and personal issues happened. But I hope the chapter was worth the wait!**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	7. Chapter 7

Gilbert jumped up when he heard a firm knock at the door. He opened the door to find Ludwig and Feliciano standing on the doorstep. "Hey, Gilbert!" the Italian greeted.

"Hey, Felici-"

The albino barely had a chance to speak before Feliciano launched himself with open arms at Gilbert and pulled him into a big hug. Gilbert grunted at the impact of the Italian's body, rocked back onto his heels, and staggered backward a step or two. Feliciano released Gilbert and let Ludwig step in. He put an arm around his older brother and pat him firmly on the back a few times. "How have you been, _mein bruder_?" Ludwig said.

"Oh, all right," Gilbert replied, offering Ludwig his most convincing smile. But his lackluster tone of voice and the dark circles rimming his crimson eyes betrayed his true emotions.

"He still doesn't remember you, then," Ludwig said automatically. Gilbert shook his head sullenly. Roderich had now been home for close to a week, but he still addressed Gilbert stiffly and formally, pushed the albino away when he tried to get too cozy, and kept to himself most of the time. "How is he doing otherwise?"

"Okay, I guess," Gilbert muttered. "He doesn't remember much at all."

Feliciano gripped Ludwig's arm and gazed at the younger German brother with shining brown eyes. "Maybe he won't even remember me," he said in a small voice.

With a wave of his hand, Gilbert motioned for Ludwig and Feliciano to step inside. He closed the door behind him. "Maybe he _will_ remember you, Feli," he said. "He's known you for a really long time. A lot longer than he's known me."

A weak smile crossed the Italian's face as he and Ludwig followed Gilbert into the living room. On their way, they passed the room containing Roderich's grand piano. Feliciano paused in front of the piano, trailed his pointer finger along its closed lid, and raised his finger to his face to examine it. After he gently blew away the thin layer of dust that had gathered upon it, he glanced back at the piano and sighed deeply. Flurries of dust swirled through the air like powdery snow. "I used to sit and listen to him play all the time," Feliciano whispered to Ludwig, who took the Italian's hand and led him into the living room. Roderich sat perched on the couch, nose buried in the daily newspaper, one elbow resting on the arm of the couch as his eyes moved slowly and laboriously across the lines of text. His lips moved faintly as he read, but no sound came out. He had been reading a little each day for the past few days in an attempt to exercise his brain. He would read for no longer than half an hour before his eyes would get tired. Roderich would then set aside his reading material and fall asleep right where he'd settled, even if he'd been sitting on the couch or on one of the chairs at the dinner table.

"Hey, Roderich," Gilbert called. Roderich jerked his head up. The pages of the newspaper rustled slightly. "We have visitors. This is my brother Ludwig, and that's his boyfriend Feliciano. Do you remember either of them?"

Roderich narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze intensely upon Feliciano and Ludwig. Gilbert had seen that look many times over the past week. The Austrian frequently studied his surroundings with the keen scrutiny of a sculptor who was sizing up a block of marble he would soon shape into a masterpiece. A small smile crossed Ludwig's face, while Feliciano's lips parted in a wide, expectant grin. "Feliciano looks vaguely familiar," Roderich said at last as he folded his newspaper neatly and set it aside. "But I don't recall Ludwig at all."

"That's all right," Ludwig said as he nodded gravely.

Feliciano squeezed Ludwig's hand and threaded their fingers together. "You don't remember me?" he asked in a high, pleading voice. "You…don't…but…but I've known you since I was eight, Roderich…"

Ludwig silenced Feliciano with a kiss. When he pulled away slowly, he caressed the Italian's cheek with the back of his hand. "Shh, Feli, it will take some time," he murmured in a low voice, lips nearly against Feliciano's ear. The Italian nodded, though it looked as though Ludwig's words had comforted him only minimally.

"Wait…" Roderich said. His thin, hoarse voice cracked, and he coughed a few times to clear his throat. He peered up at Feliciano from over his glasses. "You're _Feliciano Vargas._"

"_S-Sí_…" Feliciano replied. His grip on Ludwig's hand tightened a little.

"I think I remember you. We were neighbors when we were young, _ja_?"

"Yes, that's right!" Feliciano cried as he released Ludwig's hand, leapt forward, and flung his arms around Roderich. At first, the Austrian stiffened, but then hugged the Italian tentatively. His lips curved faintly upward and banished the serious, yet exhausted, expression that had seemed to be cemented onto his face since the day he'd come home. As Feliciano clung to him, Roderich chuckled a little. Gilbert caught himself smiling a little, too. It was the first time he'd heard Roderich laugh since the day of the accident. Though he'd never laughed often, it was as sweet a sound to Gilbert's ears as the notes that flowed from the grand piano in the adjacent room. For a moment, he let his eyelids slide shut as he took in the sound. But when the room became still again, he opened his eyes again and saw the way Roderich smiled at Feliciano as the Italian pulled away from the hug. Gilbert wished Roderich would look at him that way. He wished he could see the glimmer of recognition in those amethyst eyes directed at him.

Feliciano and Ludwig stayed for a little over an hour, and all four of them talked over tea. Actually, Feliciano and Roderich reminisced over childhood memories as Ludwig and Gilbert conversed quietly with each other in German. Gilbert's mind wandered. He found that he was more focused on listening to Roderich talk than on what his brother was saying to him. Feliciano talked a mile a minute, waving his hands energetically while he brought up things that had happened to him as a child while Roderich had been watching him. The Austrian furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to keep up. Every once in a while, he nodded and murmured something like "I don't recall; tell me that story," or "of course," or just "mmhmm."

"Do you remember that time I tried to play the piano?" Feliciano said. "But then I scared the cat and I felt so bad for it so I chased after it, but it ran away from me?"

Roderich laughed again. "I think I do remember that time," he said. Gilbert snuck a glance at the Austrian out of the corner of his eye. It seemed that he remembered large chunks of his childhood, all the way up until when he entered college, at which point his memory was spotty at best. After a while, Roderich yawned, shut his eyes, and remained motionless for a moment before his head fell forward and he jerked awake, blinking steadily. Gilbert wanted to take Roderich in his arms, carry him up the stairs to bed, and press a kiss to his forehead before letting him fall asleep. But Elizaveta's words echoed in his mind: "_You've got to tease him just like you always would."_

"Getting sleepy there, Roddy?" Gilbert said as he nudged Roderich in the side with his elbow.

"How would you like it if I just elbowed _you_ all the time?" Roderich shot back. He jabbed Gilbert in the arm with his elbow and scowled at him.

Gilbert smirked and nudged Roderich right back. Sometimes when he was younger, he and Ludwig used to do this back and forth until they both started laughing. It annoyed their parents to no end when they went on road trips. The Austrian, however, did not continue the little game. He turned critical purple eyes back toward the silver-haired man and said, "You are so _childish_, Gilbert. And I put up with you for _how long_ before this accident?"

"It…it was almost two years," Gilbert replied bitterly. He lowered his eyes until he was staring at his shoes. Two years. How could it be? Nearly two years ago, on a scorching July day, he'd seen Roderich sweep down aisles of cars at the dealership, scrutinize each one, and negotiate with the sales representative until the man knocked a few thousand dollars off the price of the vehicle. _What a goddamn priss,_ he remembered thinking at the time. Gilbert shook his head to clear his mind of those memories. Once again, he remembered that he was supposed to be acting as though everything was normal. "What do you mean, you put up with me? You should have been honored that you got to spend so much time with the awesome me!"

"_I_ should be hon…you know what? I don't remember anything about you yet, but I can't tell why I would have wanted to spend time with you," Roderich said coldly. Feliciano and Ludwig had frozen in motion. The looks on their faces suggested that they were torn between intervening and slinking away to avoid watching Roderich and Gilbert argue.

Gilbert opened his mouth to respond, but found that he had no words for the Austrian. "Roderich…" he said weakly, and placed a hand on the other man's arm.

Roderich jerked away from Gilbert's touch. "I'm tired," he said. "I think I need to go upstairs and rest. I'll just leave you to…being you." As he turned and made his way toward the stairs, he paused and looked back at the three. "Bye, Feliciano. It was good to see you again," he added in a softer tone of voice. "And you, too, Ludwig, even if I don't remember you."

All three men stared after Roderich as he disappeared up the stairs. Then, they turned to glance at one another, momentarily stunned into silence. "Oh…Gilbert…" Feliciano said in a small voice. "Don't be sad."

"I'm okay," Gilbert said, though he was certain that neither of the other two believed him.

Ludwig stood and held his hand out to Feliciano. "I think we ought to get going now, _meine liebe,_" he said. Feliciano took the offered hand almost reluctantly.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer," Gilbert said. "Roderich…he's just been so tired and snappish ever since he's been home. And of course, he barely remembers anything…"

Before Gilbert could say anything else, Ludwig pulled the older brother silently into his arms for a brief moment. Feliciano hugged him, too, before the pair left, waving to Gilbert over their shoulders as they walked out the door. Once they were gone, Gilbert headed back toward the couch in the living room, but somehow his steps carried him instead into the room containing Roderich's piano. He sat on the bench before the neglected instrument and looked it over. It was entirely covered in dust, except for a thin stripe where Feliciano had wiped the dust from its lid with his fingertip. In the days just after the accident, Gilbert had dusted the piano often. _Roderich will be angry at me when he wakes up and sees that I didn't take care of it,_ he had told himself. But as days slipped by with no indication that Roderich might wake up, spending too much time near the unused piano hurt him too much inside. So he stayed away instead. He wondered when Roderich would again sit at the bench and fill their home with beautiful music.

* * *

The next day, Gilbert trudged into the house after a day of work that seemed as though it would never end. He still wasn't sleeping well, and he'd had three cups of coffee that day. Customers had given him odd stares when he'd strolled through the showroom smelling of oil and walked to the coffeemaker to pour himself yet another cup of the steaming liquid. As he paused in the entryway, he heard the sounds of music drifting through the air. "Roderich?" Gilbert whispered. He took a few more quiet steps and found Roderich seated at the piano bench, his fingers floating across the well-worn keys. Suddenly, Roderich's fingers fumbled, and the smooth, unbroken line of notes flowing from the keys was broken. He paused, sighed deeply, and let his hands fall into his lap for a brief moment. Then, Roderich laid his fingers back on the keys and tried playing the passage again. But he fumbled again. And again.

"Fuck. Fuck!" Roderich yelled as he slammed his fist into the piano hard enough to make the strings inside of it vibrate slightly. He bent over the piano and drew in shaky breaths as frustrated tears brimmed in his eyes. "What is _wrong_ with me…I used to be able to play this…" he muttered. A few tears slid down his cheeks.

"Roderich…" Gilbert said softly, realizing he'd been standing in the hallway, silently watching the Austrian, for several minutes now.

When Roderich looked up at Gilbert, his purple eyes were slick and shining. Gilbert searched his mind, but could never recall seeing Roderich act quite like this before. He had never before watched tears slicken that handsome face. He was overcome with the desire to take the Austrian in his arms, hold him, and tell him that everything would be okay. But instead, Gilbert stayed rooted to the spot, gazing helplessly at Roderich, who tried unsuccessfully to sniffle back tears. "Gilbert, why can't I _do_ this?" he said in a wavering voice. "I can hear the music in my mind. I remember what it's supposed to sound like. But my fingers won't work. I don't think I can remember a time when my fingers were so fucking weak. And Gilbert…my mind, it won't work either. Why can't I remember you? I _want_ to remember you, but I just can't. I just can't!" He bent over the piano's keyboard and covered his face with his hands.

As if some magical force was moving him, Gilbert stepped forward and wrapped both arms around the Austrian. "Roderich, it's okay," he whispered. "You'll remember soon an-"

"Don't touch me!" Roderich snapped as he shoved Gilbert away. "Don't fucking touch me. I want to be alone."

"I…ah, okay," Gilbert said as he backed slowly away. But when he looked into Roderich's eyes and saw the expression on his face, he turned and scrambled up the stairs to his room. He couldn't bear to see Roderich look like that for even another moment. He looked so frustrated, so angry, so hopeless, so desperate, so lost. He knew that the recollections of Gilbert and of all the pieces of his past he had forgotten were buried somewhere in his memory, but as hard as he tried, he could not bring those memories to mind. Gilbert could only imagine what that must feel like. It was probably similar to misplacing an item of importance, and knowing that it must be somewhere in your own home. You'd open every drawer, empty every cabinet, and make a wreck of the house, but still the item you're looking for is nowhere to be found. It was heartbreaking to watch Roderich struggle, to watch him wage wars against his weakened fingers and his weakened mind. Gilbert couldn't bear another moment of it.

He flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He tried to clear his mind, but all he could do was imagine the sobs that would fall from Roderich's lips, the tears that would splash onto piano keys. He could picture the scene so clearly that he felt he was still standing next to Roderich. Though neither of them liked to admit it, they had both been lonely before they met. And now, they were both lonely again, secluded in separate rooms in the same house. The distance between them could not be measured in yards or miles, but in Roderich's shattered memories and Gilbert's shattered hopes.

It was true that Roderich remembered a few things. And it was true that he remembered something new each day. But the small victories he achieved, each which signaled his slow and agonizing recovery, did little to comfort Gilbert. Roderich was just as cold and closed off today as he was on the day he and Gilbert had met. When the Austrian had returned to the dealership again and again to have his car repaired, Gilbert watched the animosity he had once felt toward the other man melt away, leaving him with nothing but desire to be close to the enigma that was Roderich Edelstein. It had taken him many months and many arguments to bridge the distance Roderich had built around himself, to make him shed his proper exterior and return the affection Gilbert could never admit he craved. Now, it was as though they were meeting each other for the first time. It was like being back at the car dealership again, watching the prim and proper man drive away in his fancy car and wondering if he would ever feel the same way Gilbert did.

* * *

**Bit of a shorter chapter. Hope you don't mind!**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	8. Chapter 8

From his seat on the couch in the living room, Gilbert watched Roderich.

He watched the Austrian move through the kitchen to make himself some hot tea. Every little motion of his body, every lift of the finger, every step he took was so basic, so simple, and yet he moved with such great care and steadiness. It was the first time Roderich had made tea for himself since he had been home. He lifted a teacup from within a cabinet, handling it cautiously, as if he expected it to slip from his weakened fingers at any moment. Then, he walked to set the set the cup on the counter. Gilbert's gaze hung on Roderich, watching the way his hips swayed slightly as he walked. _God is he sexy,_ Gilbert thought hungrily. Even though Roderich was still weak, and even though he was merely making a simple cup of tea, Gilbert still found him insanely attractive. For reasons he couldn't quite describe, the albino felt hardness between his legs.

Cradling his teacup carefully in his hand, Roderich made his way back into the living room to sit back down on the couch. Gilbert swallowed hard as the Austrian approached, and he crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to hide his growing erection. The cool, composed glance Roderich cast at him with those alluring amethyst eyes was such sweet torture to Gilbert. He bit his lip as his cheeks flushed. He prayed the other man wouldn't notice. Shifting uncomfortably on the couch, he leaned back and acted as though nothing was wrong. Now that Roderich was back home after having been absent for so long, it seemed as though everything he did, no matter how insignificant, had the power to turn Gilbert on, from the way his eyelids slid shut when he lost himself in playing the piano to the expression of casual disinterest on his face when he sipped his tea to the way he looked when he slept. Gilbert had become convinced that he'd end up jumping Roderich the second he remembered him.

After a moment, Roderich set his teacup down on the end table and cleared his throat. "So, Gilbert," he said. His Austrian accent had become more audible now that he'd regained his voice. The copious amounts of tea he'd drunk since he had been home certainly helped with that.

Gilbert wished that the next words Roderich would speak could be, "_Want to fuck?_" He could hear in his mind how coolly and casually Roderich would pronounce those words. He could imagine how alluring the tinge of that Austrian accent would sound, how unbearably sexy…

"Yes!" Gilbert blurted. "Yes _please!_"

Roderich rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. "Yes please _what_?" he said, sounding a bit confused.

"Oh, um…" Gilbert muttered. His cheeks burned. He paused for a long moment before speaking again. "Never mind. I…I didn't really sleep much last night. I say stupid shit sometimes when I'm tired." He knew that was an absolutely stupid excuse, but maybe Roderich would buy it. He studied the other man, trying to read his expression. The Austrian's face remained devoid of all emotion, the way it had when he and Gilbert had first met. "Sorry, what were you going to say?"

"I…I feel awful that I don't remember you," Roderich said slowly. "I can tell that it upsets you that I don't remember. I'd like you to refresh my memory and tell me how we met."

Gilbert smiled a little, though he wasn't sure if that was something worth smiling about. A look of sympathy stirred upon Roderich's face. He peered with interest into crimson eyes. "We met at the car dealership where I work," Gilbert replied, doing his best to ignore how hard he was getting in the hopes that something he'd say might jog the Austrian's memory. "You bought a new car. But it had a lot of problems. I kept fixing it for you, but you had to keep coming back."

Roderich chuckled. "Oh, really? That's what happened? That's kind of funny," he said.

Gilbert laughed with him. "Yes, I suppose it is," he admitted. "It didn't seem funny at the time, though."

"No? What do you mean?"

Shaking his head, Gilbert replied, "Oh, just that we kind of hated each other at the time."

Roderich lifted his teacup from the end table and sipped at the steaming liquid a few more times. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me," he said in between sips. This time, though, the tone with which he spoke was light and good-natured. The corners of his lips turned vaguely upward. "And how about our first date?"

A laugh tumbled from Gilbert's lips. That was a fond memory, indeed, simply because that date had been so imperfect that it was perfect. "I took you out to a restaurant," he began. "I couldn't get you to talk very much at first. You didn't really want to be there. I think I promised I'd fix your car up for free if you went on a date with me. But then I mentioned the piano, and then I couldn't get you to shut up!" He smiled warmly as he thought of how Roderich had spoken so passionately about playing the piano, about how it felt to perform solos and concertos onstage. "When I took you home, I wanted to kiss you, but I was so nervous I almost didn't do it!"

"You, nervous?" Roderich interrupted.

Gilbert nodded wryly. "But then I did. And you kissed me back, and I was so surprised that you did. And…that was it." Thinking about the simple act of kissing Roderich, and about how it felt when the other man pressed back into the kiss, Gilbert somehow managed to get even more turned on than he already was. He was so hard now that it was almost unbearable, almost painful.

"I still don't remember that. I'm sorry," Roderich said.

"It's okay," Gilbert said, unable to keep a trace of sadness from finding its way into his voice.

"Maybe…maybe I would remember if I kissed you." Roderich's words made Gilbert's heart race in an instant. It was as though the Austrian had read his mind. He said nothing and let Roderich lean in toward him until their lips met. Both men's lips parted, and their tongues pressed firmly against each other. Gilbert sighed into the kiss and let his tongue wander inside Roderich's mouth, re-exploring its every angle. When the Austrian finally pulled away, he shook his head sadly. "I still don't remember," he admitted. But Gilbert didn't pay attention to Roderich's words. He couldn't stand it any longer. He grabbed a handful of the other man's shirt, pulled him in close, and kissed him again, more roughly this time. He pinned Roderich against the back of the couch, plunked himself down in the Austrian's lap, and started to grind greedily against him. His needy erection pulsed, almost as if to thank him for the glorious feeling of friction he'd created against Roderich's body. _Maybe he'll remember me if I touch him,_ Gilbert thought. _Maybe he'll remember me if I fuck him. God, I want to!_

"What in hell are you _doing_?" Roderich barked as he forcibly broke the kiss, turning his head in the other direction. "I _told_ you I don't remember you. How do you expect me to sleep with you if I don't know you?" Gilbert froze in motion and stared into wide, confused purple eyes. "Will you just…get _off_ me?" Roderich added in a calmer tone of voice.

Gilbert sighed heavily, stood, and walked up the stairs without speaking another word, leaving Roderich to stare after him from the couch. It was uncomfortable to climb the stairs while fully hard, and he gritted his teeth with every step he took. When he reached the top of the staircase, he pushed the door to the bathroom open, stepped inside, shut and locked the door behind him, and unbuttoned his jeans. He let his pants and boxers fall down around his ankles. He slid a hand between his legs, curled his fingers around his neglected erection, and started jerking at it, slowly at first. The movements of his hand rapidly increased soon as unfulfilled desire built up in him, desire for the man who sat on the couch just downstairs but who wouldn't get into bed with him. Gilbert panted and gasped for air, feeling sweat bead on his forehead, as he felt himself getting closer…

But just then, he knew that his hands would never feel like Roderich's hands. He wanted Roderich to touch him instead, and tried to imagine, but couldn't. Instead, the thoughts that crossed his mind were of everything he'd done while Roderich was in the hospital to fill the hole left by his absence. He thought of how many times he'd touched himself in bed late at night, in the shower, and – Roderich would kill him for this one if he ever found out – sitting on the piano bench one day, thinking about how passionate his Austrian was about his instrument. He'd been facing _away_ from the piano, but that didn't make it feel any less shameful. And then, of course, there was Ivan. Remembering how guilty, how dirty, and sometimes even how unfulfilled he'd felt after sleeping with Ivan was enough to kill Gilbert's erection in an instant. He lost all desire to continue touching himself. So he tucked himself into his pants, wandered back downstairs, stepped outside, and started walking, with no real destination in mind.

Before he knew what was happening, Gilbert found himself staring up at the bar he frequented. The path that led to its doors had become especially familiar to him in the months since the accident. When stress and sadness chased Gilbert like a predator hunting prey, alcohol chased those negative emotions right back, even if only for a night. The sun had started to sink in the sky, painting the city skyline in hues of orange, pink, purple, and pale yellow. "Look, the sun is setting," Gilbert muttered to himself. "Means it's not too early to drink."

He wandered inside the dimly lit bar, wondering who, if anyone, he would run into there. Would he see Francis and Antonio? Surely if he did, they would ask him how Roderich was, which would serve as a bitter reminder that the man he loved still did not remember him. Would he see Ivan? If he did, Gilbert decided he would avoid the Russian. No matter how desperately his body craved sex, he refused to go down that path again. He knew now it would only make him feel worse in the end.

It was likely, of course, that Gilbert wouldn't see anyone he knew at the bar. It was still a bit early in the evening for that – although it _was_ a Saturday, after all. He settled at one of the bar stools and ordered his favorite German beer – or at least, the best one he had found while living in America. Gilbert brought the glass to his lips and sipped gingerly. He promised himself silently that he wouldn't get drunk tonight – just a little tipsy, just enough to make the stress melt away. The last thing he needed right now was to stumble in the doorway, only to have Roderich scold him or tell him he reeked of beer.

Distantly, Gilbert heard the sound of a familiar French accent. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Francis talking to Arthur. He clutched a bottle of beer in one hand and waved the other in the air as he spoke. From the way he smiled and leaned in close to the Brit, Gilbert could tell he was once again trying to charm Arthur into going on a date with him. Francis' numerous attempts had all failed so far, but Gilbert hoped Arthur would cave in and say yes soon. Though Francis seemed to be able to get almost any man or woman to go on a date with him, for some reason he was fixated on this British man. Gilbert hoped that one of the three friends would be successful in his romantic pursuits. Neither he nor Antonio was having any luck at the moment.

Gilbert set down his emptied glass of beer and waited for the bartender to refill it. As he waited, his eyes once again roamed his surroundings, searching for familiar faces. His gaze halted on Ivan. Of course. _Of course._ The Russian sat alone and stared longingly across the room at Alfred. He twisted his scarf nervously in one hand, while the other gripped a shot glass, which was presumably filled with vodka. Gilbert lowered his eyes and sighed as he again felt the weight of guilt eat a hole inside of him. Reluctantly, he lifted himself from the bar stool, walked to the table at which Ivan sat, and hovered awkwardly next to the Russian, trying to come up with sufficient words to say. "Um, Ivan…" he mumbled.

"Oh, _privyet,_ Gilbert," Ivan replied dryly. By the glazed-over look in those purple eyes and the lack of expression on his half-obscured face, Gilbert could tell the Russian probably didn't really want to talk to him.

"Listen, ah…I wanted to…apologize, Ivan," Gilbert said slowly without looking directly into Ivan's eyes. "I guess I kind of…used you, didn't I?" A faint pink hue crept into his cheeks. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Ivan turned to glance at Gilbert for the first time. "A little bit, _da_," he admitted. "You can sit, you know, instead of just standing there."

Gilbert thought he'd picked up on a vague trace of sympathy in Ivan's voice. Or perhaps it had just been his imagination. He settled into the seat next to the Russian, still without really looking at him. "I'm just sorry," he said wistfully. "I've been such an asshole. To you. To Roderich. Actually, to pretty much everyone I've spoken to for the last three fucking months. I didn't mean for that to happen, but it just…did. It's just been so hard since Roderich was – you know what? No. No excuses. I was just an asshole, and I'm sorry, Ivan."

The look Ivan gave him was forgiving, almost sorrowful. "It's all right, Gilbert," he said. "No, you _do_ have an excuse. A good excuse. That must have been difficult. But I've heard Roderich has woken up now, _da_?"

"Yes, but he doesn't remember me," Gilbert said, the end of his sentence punctuated with a heavy sigh. "Yet," he added as an afterthought in the hopes that Ivan wouldn't feel too sorry for him.

"That's awful, Gilbert," Ivan said absently, his gaze wandering back to the American who was currently leaning casually against the bar and clutching a beer. He had an impatient look in his eye as he apparently waited for Arthur; he almost resembled a child waiting for a parent to finish talking with another adult.

Gilbert followed Ivan's gaze. "You like Alfred, don't you?"

"_Da_ – I mean, _nyet _– I mean…don't tell him, please," Ivan said.

"I wouldn't," Gilbert replied. "I've probably already fucked up your life enough. But you should. Or ask him on a date. Or…something." He trailed off, knowing he'd be absolutely horrible at giving any kind of relationship advice whatsoever. He hadn't had many relationships himself, and most of the ones he did have went poorly or ended badly. Not even his marriage seemed to be holding up at the moment.

Ivan rested his head on his hands, abandoning his shot glass for the moment. "Oh, I wish, Gilbert," he said. "But why would someone like Alfred want someone like me?"

Now _that_ was a feeling Gilbert was all too familiar with. "I ask myself that all the time. I can't understand why a man as classy as Roderich would want to be with a…loser like me. But he does. Or at least he did before…the accident. You never know until you try, Ivan."

"Okay, ah, thank you, Gilbert. And I hope things get better for you."

"Mmhmm," Gilbert mumbled. He got up, sat back down at the bar, and started drinking his freshly poured beer. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ivan's lips pull into a straight line, brows furrowing in determination, as he walked over toward Alfred. The Russian and the American were soon lost in conversation as Gilbert started to lose himself in his alcohol. He ended up drinking a beer or two more than he'd intended to, but it didn't matter, because he still didn't feel drunk at all.

When Gilbert exited the bar, the sky was starting to get dark. The shadow of the moon was barely visible in the starless sky. Gilbert caught himself missing the German countryside, where the pollution of the city did not obscure the wonders of the night sky. He thought about taking Roderich to visit his hometown over the summer, or perhaps for Oktoberfest. Wouldn't that be nice? He forgot for a moment that Roderich still had no memories of Gilbert whatsoever. When he remembered, he let a shuddering sigh fall from his lips as he kept walking aimlessly, not toward home but to wherever his feet would carry him. He felt no urgency to return home, because Roderich surely didn't care where he was.

Storm clouds started to blacken the already dark sky, chasing away the last vestiges of the sunset. But Gilbert didn't care. He just kept walking. The first few drops of chilly rain tumbled from the sky. Gilbert shivered as the rain started to soak his hair, his shirt, and his jeans, but that did not stop the advancement of his steps down the sidewalk. He still had no destination in mind, except that he wanted to be away from home for a few hours.

He arrived at a different familiar destination. This time, it was the hospital at which Roderich had stayed for two and a half months. It felt so strange to go about his routine each day without visiting the hospital any longer, so it was natural that he had arrived there, even if by accident. Gilbert blinked in surprise as he stood before the sliding doors. Though he had no business being there, he stepped inside the lit waiting room. Besides, the rain now fell in a torrential downpour outside, and he was now thoroughly soaked and freezing. He slumped into a seat and stared out into nothingness, promising himself he'd wait until the rain slowed down, and then he'd walk back home. "Are you waiting for something?" one of the ladies at the reception desk asked him.

"No," Gilbert said. "Yes. Maybe. Nothing you can help me with, though." _I'm waiting for him to tell me he loves me,_ Gilbert thought.

"Oh…Gilbert!" Lili said as she jerked her head up from the computer she'd been staring at, having recognized the German's voice. "It's you! What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Gilbert almost laughed. "Is…is _something_ wrong? How about you ask if everything is wrong? I have my Roderich back, but he still doesn't remember me." He realized he'd sounded a little cold and harsh when he'd spoken those words. His voice softened as he continued. "Do you know what it's like to miss someone like hell when they're sitting right next to you?"

"No, I…I don't," Lili replied in a small voice. "Hey, Elizaveta's on her break. Would you like to talk to her?"

Gilbert nodded sullenly, but did not say another word. Lili got up and returned in a few moments with Elizaveta trailing after her. "Gilbert! Oh, my God, look at you! You're soaked!" she cried as she settled down next to him.

"Oh, it's no big deal," Gilbert said, waving his hand casually in the air. "That's the least of my worries right now."

"I'm sorry he doesn't remember you yet," Elizaveta said sadly as she twisted a lock of hair around her finger.

Desperately wanting to feel close to someone, Gilbert put his head on Elizaveta's shoulder. She put an arm around him and patted his shoulder comfortingly. The motion of her hand made a wet slapping sound when it met with the drenched fabric of his shirt. "Oh…Elizaveta, I'm sorry!" Gilbert said as he lifted his head from the nurse's shoulder. "I don't need to get you all wet too!" He paused for a moment and considered the words he had just spoken. A deep blush spread across his cheeks as he stared at his hands. "Shit, that sounded wrong. I mean…I'm…why am I such an idiot?"

"It's all right, Gilbert. I knew what you meant. And I don't mind. Really, if I can help you feel better, that's good enough for me."

Gilbert smiled, though it didn't really feel right. "Thank you," he said. "Why are you so nice to me, especially when I feel like a jerk half the time?"

"You're not, Gilbert!" Elizaveta replied. "You've just had a rough time lately. Don't blame yourself for it." Gilbert nodded, though the nurse's words had made him feel only a little bit better. "Hey, you know what you can do that might help Roderich remember?"

"What?"

"You re-create a memory the two of you had together. Perhaps your first date?"

Gilbert chuckled sadly. Their first date hadn't been anything special, though it was memorable to Gilbert. Part of him almost wished he could go back to those days. Even though they'd argued frequently just after they started dating, at least Roderich had remembered him back then. "How about the day I proposed?" he suggested. Now _that_ day had been more memorable, and it had actually gone essentially as planned, for once.

"That's a great idea," Elizaveta said.

For the remaining ten minutes of Elizaveta's break, the two of them sat in silence in the waiting room. Gilbert hoped he might stay friends with the Hungarian nurse even after Roderich remembered him. She had seen him at his worst and had not abandoned him, hated him, or thought him a weakling for it. That in and of itself was enough to make Gilbert trust her.

When Elizaveta had to go back to work, Gilbert stood and walked out the sliding doors of the hospital. The sky was now completely black, with only the lights of the city and the streaks of falling rain to illuminate it. He had intended to wait until the downpour slowed to venture outside again, but he was already drenched thoroughly, so what did it matter? Blinking back a few stray tears, Gilbert trudged home in the pouring rain.

* * *

**Sorry this chapter took a little more time to post than I wanted! I had an absolutely awful week in terms of schoolwork. Next week's not looking much better, so Chapter 9 may take a while.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Gilbert woke up shivering.

The sheets surrounding his chilled body felt like ice. He pulled them up around himself, burying deeper into the comforter's depths, but it seemed to make no difference. He exhaled shakily and almost expected to see his breath create a thin cloud in the frigid morning air. Gilbert was no stranger to this feeling, as he got cold rather easily. Normally, on mornings such as this, he'd snuggle in close to Roderich and feel the heat from the other man's body warm him until he was able to shut his eyes and fall back asleep. But this morning, of course, his bed was empty. Roderich was sound asleep in the room they used to share, while Gilbert fought to make himself comfortable in the guest bedroom.

Rolling over, Gilbert peered at the clock and saw that it was time to get up for work. Reluctantly, he stood and let the covers fall away from his body. He shivered again, more intensely this time, and decided he'd put on a sweatshirt and some sweatpants to eat breakfast in before he dressed for work. But then, as he started toward the chest of drawers, he remembered that they would be mostly empty. Almost all of his clothing was still in the drawers and closet in the room he and Roderich had shared. He thought about slipping quietly into the room to look for his sweatshirt, but he didn't want to disturb the sleeping Austrian.

At work, everything seemed dull and tasteless. Today more than ever, he looked upon the cars he repaired with a kind of disdain. They were the machines that had ruined his life – that were still ruining his life. He worked to replace a timing belt, which was a relatively routine repair, but today it seemed to take forever. He constantly found himself getting distracted. Gilbert's thoughts wandered, always returning to Roderich.

"Gilbert! Aren't you done with that timing belt yet?"

The manager's voice interrupted Gilbert's reverie. He jumped and dropped the tool he was holding, which clattered noisily to the concrete floor. "Oh, not quite yet," he replied.

The man sighed. "You've replaced dozens of timing belts, Gilbert," he said. "You shouldn't be taking this long."

"Hey! Don't rush me!" Gilbert snapped, lifting crimson eyes from his work to glare at his manger.

"And don't you yell at me!"

Gilbert stood and stared his manager down. "You have been on my case ever since I got back," he said in a low, almost dangerous voice. "It's like you don't even appreciate me around here. You know what? I don't even fucking _like_ working here! Do you think I _wanted_ to end up here? You know what? I'm done. I can't do this any more. I fucking quit." Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, abandoning his half-finished repair. His manager stared after him, mouth hanging open slightly in shock.

When Gilbert arrived home, a few hours early, the unmistakable scent of baking wafted in the air. He walked into the kitchen and found Roderich pulling a cake from the oven. The Austrian looked up to glance at Gilbert. "Oh, hello," he said, offering the albino a small smile. "I made some cake. Would you like some once it cools off?"

"Sure, but…you're baking?" Gilbert said. His eyes swept the kitchen, but no cookbook was in sight. Roderich almost never baked from a cookbook unless he was trying something new; he had his favorite recipes entirely memorized.

"I've always loved baking," Roderich replied coolly, shrugging once he had set the cake on the counter. Gilbert smiled a little. Every time Roderich regained a little shard of his memory, Gilbert's hope was renewed. But it left him wondering why Roderich would recall such trivial things but could not remember his husband. "Wait, why are you home so early?" the Austrian said suddenly. "Don't you get off at four?"

Suddenly, Gilbert recognized the seriousness of what he had done. Now neither of them had a job. Roderich was still struggling to regain his skill at playing the piano and violin, so he could not yet return to the philharmonic orchestra. And now Gilbert had quit his job on a whim, walked out right in the middle of replacing a timing belt, without giving any notice whatsoever. "Oh, um…" he mumbled, lowering his gaze to the ground in shame. "I kind of…quit."

Roderich froze halfway to the set of kitchen drawers. He whipped around and narrowed his eyes at Gilbert. "You did _what_?" he said.

"I…I'm so sorry," Gilbert said quietly. "I didn't think…"

"Of _course_ you didn't think," Roderich interrupted. "It's lucky my parents have money and will give me some if I ask. You are perhaps one of the most foolish men I have ever met, Gilbert. Do you realize what you could have done to us?"

Gilbert sighed heavily. "Yes, I realize that now," he said. "But, Roderich…I just couldn't take it anymore. I have to spend all day fixing cars. And it hurts, because cars are the things that hurt you so badly. And I just don't like it. And I kind of just…I don't know, snapped."

"You…oh…" Roderich's voice softened a bit. "It's because of me." A hint of sadness crept into his voice.

"It's not your fault," Gilbert said.

"Yes, but I can tell you're hurting because of me. And even though I still do not remember you, I don't want you to be upset." Roderich sliced into the cake. Little puffs of steam rose from inside it and swirled into the air. "Especially not on my account," he added after a moment of silence.

Gilbert allowed himself a small smile. Though he still ached to see a glimmer of recognition in those amethyst eyes, to hear Roderich say, "I love you" once more, at least the Austrian was trying to understand. It was but a whisper of the Roderich that Gilbert knew and loved, but it was a step in the right direction nonetheless.

* * *

When Gilbert ambled into the kitchen the next morning, he found Roderich already perched at the table, eating a slice of the cake he had made yesterday. Gilbert found himself chuckling as he ran a hand through his messy silver hair in an attempt to straighten it out a bit. Roderich's occasional habit of eating cake for breakfast had always amused him, mostly because he had not expected it. It seemed like such a childish thing to do for someone so stiff and formal. "Don't eat _too_ much there, Specs," Gilbert teased.

Roderich halted with his fork halfway to his mouth. "And why would that be?" he said. "Are you criticizing my eating habits now?"

"Nope," Gilbert said. "But I could do that, too, if you really wanted me to."

"I think I'll pass on that one."

"I'm just…making dinner for us tonight," Gilbert said nonchalantly. "So be here around seven."

Roderich rolled his eyes at Gilbert and pushed a forkful of cake into his mouth before replying. "Where in the world would I go?" he said humorlessly.

Gilbert shrugged. "Piano-land?"

At this, Roderich at last set his fork down and twisted around in his seat to stare at Gilbert. He arched one eyebrow at the albino. "Piano-land? Really?" he echoed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, it just means that sometimes, you get so absorbed in playing that it's almost like I don't even exi- you know what? Never mind," Gilbert said as he turned around and headed for the refrigerator. "I'm getting breakfast."

Around four in the afternoon that day, Gilbert had been looking over a rumpled printed-out page from the Internet, studying the recipe over and over again, when he heard an energetic knock on the door. From the faint shadow of the figure standing outside, complete with its trademark curl, Gilbert knew it was Feliciano. Still carrying the smudged printout in his hand, he walked to the door and opened it to find a grinning Italian carrying armloads of grocery bags standing on his porch. "_Guten abend,_ Gilbert!" Feliciano said, and then he giggled. "Ludwig taught me that. I love when you and Luddy teach me words in German! It's fun!"

Feliciano's infectious smile made the corners of Gilbert's mouth turn faintly upward. "Glad you think so! _Guten abend,_ Feli, and thank you so much for agreeing to help me," he said.

"Oh, it's nothing!" Feliciano chirped. "I always love cooking for people!" The Italian's bright brown eyes slid to the page in Gilbert's hand. "You won't need a recipe, silly! I make osso buco almost every night at the restaurant!" He plucked the paper from Gilbert's hand and crumpled it in his fist in a way that was so sudden and almost abrupt that it made the albino chuckle.

When the two wandered through the entryway, past the room in which Roderich sat practicing the violin, Feliciano paused for a moment to study the Austrian's face, which was wrinkled in intense concentration, and to listen to the unbroken line of notes that rippled through the air. Roderich, having heard them enter, froze in motion with his bow still against the violin's strings. "Oh, hello, Feliciano," he said politely as he looked up at the two of them.

"That sounded really good!" Feliciano exclaimed.

"It was all right, I suppose," Roderich replied. A note of something like disappointment stirred in his voice. "But much better than it was two weeks ago. It's good to see you, Feli, but may I ask what you are doing here?"

Feliciano held up the bags of groceries he was carrying. "I'm helping Gilbert cook!"

"You mean you're helping to keep him from burning the house down," Roderich said. He and the Italian laughed together.

In the kitchen, Gilbert and Feliciano spread their ingredients out across the counter. "Do you want to start with the vegetables, Gil, and I'll work on the meat?" Feliciano said. Gilbert nodded and slowly started to chop vegetables, casting questioning glances at the Italian every so often to check if each slice he made looked right. Each time Feliciano felt the albino's eyes upon him, he turned and offered the other man a small nod before turning back to the veal that sat in oil in a Dutch oven on the stovetop. Feliciano looked almost as focused when he cooked as Roderich did when he played the piano. Gilbert was slightly jealous that both of them had found something they were truly passionate about, whereas he had accepted a job simply because it paid his bills. Roderich's violin music lilted in the background, providing a soundtrack to their cooking.

Looking up from the sizzling pan, Feliciano said in a low voice, "How have you been, Gilbert?"

"Shitty," Gilbert mumbled, the sound of his voice interrupted by his knife as it sliced through an onion.

"Of course you are!" Feliciano cried. "Stupid! I'm so stupid!"

"No, you were just trying to be nice," Gilbert replied. "I'm the one who's being stupid. You know, Feli, I just feel like I'm trying _so hard_ to get him to remember me. I mean, like this evening, for example. I'm making him a fucking dinner. And I just feel like he's not even…" Gilbert trailed off. Feliciano had abandoned the wooden spoon he had been using to stir, and gazed at Gilbert with wide brown eyes, stunned into silence. "I'm sorry. I just…what if he never remembers me, Feli?"

Feliciano stared into the Dutch oven at the cooking meat. "I don't know, Gilbert," he said with a long sigh. "That would be really sad."

"Sometimes, I wish it could just be me and Ludwig again," Gilbert admitted. "You know, just so I could feel like I always had someone who'd take ca-" He halted mid-sentence to consider what he was saying. "Shit, no! That's not what I meant! Feliciano, I want you and Ludwig to be together. I'm glad you're together. I'm…I am so fucking sorry. I should just stop talking now."

For a split second, the look on Feliciano's face was slightly hurt. But then he grinned again as though the previous moment had simply not happened. "I knew what you meant!" he said in a voice that was brimming with an innocence that was almost child-like. "I only hope that things get better for you. And that this helps." Gilbert could only nod stiffly in response. It still baffled him that almost everyone in his life was kind and sympathetic, even when he snapped at them and treated them rudely. He had fully expected that at least a few of them would have abandoned him by now. As he sighed in a way that mixed admiration and hopelessness, Gilbert turned back to the vegetables he had been slicing.

In a few hours, dinner was finished. Feliciano hugged Gilbert good-bye and wished him luck. Gilbert set the osso buco with pappardelle pasta on the table, and then as he waited for Roderich to wander in the kitchen, he habitually reached out and straightened first the flower arrangement he'd put out on the table, and then the collar of his shirt. He had abandoned his usual t-shirt and jeans in favor of a crisp dress shirt and khakis. It wasn't the same shirt as he'd worn the night he'd proposed to Roderich, but he'd left that shirt in a hotel in Vienna by accident last winter. When Gilbert had come back to the United States and discovered the shirt was missing, he had been disappointed, perhaps even a little sad. Every time he wore the shirt, it reminded him that Roderich, who was so intelligent, talented, classy, and _perfect_ compared to him, had actually said yes. Roderich had said he thought Gilbert's attachment to that shirt was cute.

At last, Roderich ambled into the kitchen, tilting his head back and forth to stretch out his neck after having practiced the violin for hours on end. His purple eyes swept the room, pausing first on the meal, which looked almost as though it had come straight out of a restaurant, and then on Gilbert. He raised both eyebrows and hummed lightly before he settled into his seat at the table. "I must say, I'm impressed," he said as he allowed a smile to sneak onto his lips. "This...this is really something, Gilbert."

"Well, I did have Feliciano's help," Gilbert said.

"And a good thing, too," Roderich said dryly as he ran his pointer finger around the rim of his wine glass.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean, Princess?" Gilbert shot back, giggling at one of the many nicknames he'd chosen for Roderich over the years. This one was probably the Austrian's least favorite. "Don't you think I can cook?"

From the way Roderich furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose, he still hated that little nickname just as much as he had before the accident. "Something is telling me that you can't," Roderich replied before cutting into the osso buco and taking a tentative bite.

Gilbert almost wanted to burst with joy. Did Roderich _remember_? It was true, of course. When he cooked, he somehow managed to dirty almost every pot and pan in the kitchen. He neglected to use measuring cups, instead guessing at portion sizes by sight, which was fine for a seasoned chef like Feliciano, but certainly not for Gilbert. And he almost always forgot to check to make sure he had all the necessary ingredients before he started cooking. Halfway through, Gilbert would discover he was missing an ingredient or two, and he'd have to make a hasty – and usually terrible – substitution. Not to mention the numerous times he'd burned food. He studied Roderich, trying to read his expression. Did the Austrian remember Gilbert's multiple cooking mishaps before he'd practically been banned from the kitchen? Or was he simply making a lucky guess? He held his breath, waiting, but Roderich said nothing else and continued eating.

"This is really good, Gilbert," the Austrian commented. "Though I suppose I should really be thanking Feliciano. I'll let him know the next time I see him."

The rest of the dinner continued in relative silence. The _clink_ of forks and knives against the plates filled the emptiness. It was so different from the day Gilbert had proposed, which was almost a year and a half ago now. That day, they had never run out of things to say to each other. When they finished eating, they both had another slice of Roderich's cake from the previous day. Gilbert had almost finished his slice when he lifted his eyes from his plate and let them come to rest tentatively on Roderich. No glimmer of recognition alighted in those amethyst eyes. The albino cleared his throat. "Um, Roddy…would you…want to go for a walk? With me?"

"Why not?" Roderich said casually. Clearly, it wasn't as important to him as it was to Gilbert. "I suppose I could use some exercise. I have been spending a lot of time just sitting at the piano bench."

"I've noticed," Gilbert said. Without another word, they stood, put their plates in the dishwasher, and stepped out into the warm mid-May night air. Gilbert led the way to the park a few blocks away. He remembered that when he had proposed, he had scolded himself afterward. _I should have taken Roderich out of the city, _he remembered thinking at the time, _to somewhere beautiful and open and natural. That would have been better. Why am I so un-romantic?_

"Here it is," Gilbert said as he and Roderich halted in the middle of the park. In the clearing, a still lake mirrored the silvery beams of the moon, its glasslike surface undisturbed by passing breezes. "We walked here, and for a while, we just stood and stared at the moon." Gilbert tilted his crimson eyes upward. Though the city smog kept the stars from shimmering in the sky, but a glowing silvery dome was visible above the skyline, casting soft light down through the park. Roderich's eyes followed Gilbert's before they returned to the albino's face. "But then," Gilbert continued, "I got down on one knee and told you I loved you more than anything in the world. And I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And…and you said yes."

Gilbert smiled at the Austrian as he pictured that day in his mind, how rapidly his heart had thudded in chest as he had waited breathlessly for Roderich's response, terrified the word that fell from his lips would be "no." And he remembered how Roderich had looked in the moonlight. It looked very much the same tonight. The moonlight illuminated the lines of his face and shimmered across his purple eyes, making them look like little pools of light in the darkness. Gilbert wondered if his husband realized how entrancing, how lovely, how perfect he looked. He sighed and stared at the ground for a moment before letting his eyes wander back to the Austrian. "My hands were shaking when I put the ring on your finger," Gilbert said. "You said it was cute, how nervous I was. And then we kissed and…that's it." He intertwined his own fingers together because he knew Roderich would probably push him away if he tried to take the other man's hand. "Well, that's not really it, I guess. We went home and, you know, made love all night. But…yeah."

For a moment, Roderich did not respond. His face was still and motionless, betraying no emotions. One eyebrow furrowed slightly. Gilbert could see the wheels turning in his head. Without thinking, the albino reached out and took Roderich's hand. Then, he dropped the hand guiltily and looked away in the opposite direction. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and slowly. The Austrian did not respond. Instead, he took Gilbert's hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, the ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.

Gilbert's heart almost stopped. The press of Roderich's warm palm against his was something he'd missed for so long. He gazed breathlessly into purple eyes and inhaled shakily before he managed to stammer, "Roderich…does-does this mean…"

"Does this mean _what_?" Roderich asked. "I don't remember any of this, if that's what you're asking. You just seem so…tender right now, Gilbert. You can be sweet sometimes, I suppose. I can see that now. Perhaps that's why I fell in love with you once."

Instead of feeling happy at that little token of encouragement, all Gilbert felt was anger. He had planned this entire evening, labored over the most minute of details, tried to make it exactly as it was, and Roderich remembered _nothing_. "You don't remember _anything_, Roderich?" he echoed in a harsh tone of voice.

"No. I'm sorry, but I just can't."

Gilbert pushed Roderich's hand away. "Seriously? Seriously?" he almost yelled. "I did all of this for you! All of it! I even wasted Feli's entire fucking evening. Goddamn priss."

"Hey! It's not my fault!" Roderich yelled right back. "I can't make my mind do something it's not capable of! I wish I could! If life worked that way, we'd all be fucking rich and famous!"

"Are you even _trying_, though?" Gilbert probed. "Because I'm – wait. Just a second. If you don't remember _this_, I swear I will flip shit." He pulled his iPod out of his pocket, removed the earbuds and coiled them around his fingers, and selected the playlist he'd made for Roderich for when he'd been lying unresponsive in the hospital. He played the song the two of them had danced to at their wedding. Roderich leaned in close, placing his ear right next to the iPod as the song played. For a moment, he was silent and motionless. Then, he shook his head gravely.

Gilbert shook the iPod furiously in the Austrian's face. "Are you fucking serious? Why can't you remember the music? Why? Music is what you do! I just…" He paused for a moment and lowered his eyes in shame. "I just want you back," he said quietly.

"If you want me back, then why are you yelling at me for something I cannot control?" Roderich said coldly. "And look, now we have to walk home together." He made a disgusted face.

"No need," Gilbert shot back. "I'm going to the bar. I just need to fucking _drink._"

Gilbert watched Roderich storm off in the other direction, leaving him alone in the middle of the park.

Well, at least the sky was clear and cloudless tonight.

* * *

**Okay, I'm really sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! I've had a rough couple of weeks at school. I hope it's all right!**

**I really hope I can get the next chapter out within a week, which is what I prefer to do.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and please review :)**


	10. Chapter 10

Late that night, Gilbert awoke to the sounds of his own coughs. He was freezing again, and buried deeper into the covers as coughs shook his body. He coughed until his head started to ache. Something told him he should probably get up and take some medicine, but he felt too tired and sore to move. Letting his gaze slide to the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was 2:17 a.m. He groaned, rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to keep the warmth in. But sleep did not come easily. Coughs disturbed Gilbert again and again. Vaguely, he wondered if he might wake Roderich. But then he huffed and remembered that the Austrian was probably still angry with him.

When Gilbert's coughs subsided, he finally drifted back off to sleep. But the stillness of slumber did not last long. In a few more hours, he woke abruptly, drenched in sweat and feeling as though he was burning up. The t-shirt and boxers he slept in stuck to his body. He pushed the covers away from his body, sat up halfway, and sniffled a little. As he started to cough again, Gilbert decided it was time to get some medication. Opening the door as quietly as possible, he made his way down the hallway and down the stairs. He walked on his tiptoes out of habit. Once he and Roderich had started to live together, it hadn't taken Gilbert long to figure out that the Austrian didn't like to be woken up in the middle of the night, especially if his philharmonic orchestra was rehearsing the next morning.

After taking a Benadryl and a cough suppressant, Gilbert crawled back into bed, suddenly feeling cold again as the sweat that soaked him cooled and evaporated. It was another half an hour before the sleep medication kicked in and at last made his eyelids feel so heavy that he could stay awake no longer.

Gilbert slept until almost eleven in the morning. When he woke, his head felt fuzzy and his body weak and exhausted, as though he had not slept at all. He ran a hand through his hair as he trudged into the kitchen. Roderich, who sat at the table reading the newspaper, lifted his eyes to study Gilbert. "Feeling all right, Gilbert?" he asked.

"No, I feel like shit," Gilbert said with a little cough.

"I figured as much. You were up coughing half the night."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake you up," Gilbert said quietly.

Roderich shrugged, looking just as disinterested as ever. "No, that's all right," he said flatly. "I had some trouble sleeping myself." Gilbert sniffled a few times and covered his mouth as he started to cough. The Austrian lifted his eyes from his reading to peer at Gilbert, concern filling their amethyst depths. "You should take something for that," he commented. "And perhaps go back to bed and rest a bit. You really do look awful."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the complement, honey," he said in a mocking tone of voice. Roderich shot him a withering glance and sighed deeply. But he knew the Austrian was right. When he'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror this morning, he looked paler than usual, red irises rimmed in red veins, dark circles looming beneath them. He almost looked worse than he had on the most recent morning after he'd slept with Ivan. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he walked through the kitchen and spread some jam on a thick slice of bread for breakfast. He stared at it for a moment. Though he didn't really want to eat, he felt as though he should. He took a few tentative bites. The food tasted bland and hit his stomach like a brick. After eating only a third of the slice, he pushed it away and trudged to the medicine cabinet in search of some more cough suppressants.

Once he'd swallowed a few more pills, Gilbert turned to make his way back upstairs. Roderich's voice made him halt in his tracks. "You probably made yourself sick that night you walked home in the rain," he said.

"Probably," Gilbert replied with a careless shrug. He placed a hand on the railing and started to climb the first stair.

"Oh, Gilbert…" Roderich added, his voice softer than before, "if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Smiling weakly back at Roderich, Gilbert dragged himself back up the stairs and climbed into bed again. But this time, he was unable to relax. He tossed and turned. His body switched frequently between almost unbearable heat and bone-chilling coldness. For some reason, he ached all over. Gilbert shut his eyes and tried to find sleep again, but it wouldn't come. Groaning, he pulled the covers all the way over his head to shut out the light and lay beneath them, shivering and sniffling. He wondered why he had been sick so many times this year. He had caught a cold when he'd visited Vienna with Roderich and had nearly ruined their Christmas. Then, just a week after the accident, he'd gotten sick again. Now, he was battling chills and coughs for a third time. This really was the worst year of his entire life. He hoped that this time, he would recover quickly.

* * *

The next morning, Gilbert felt worse.

After his coughs woke him several times in the night, he slept for what felt like forever. He opened his eyes only to the sound of a soft Austrian accent murmuring, "Gilbert. Gilbert, are you awake?" Gilbert could only groan hoarsely in response. "_Mein Gott,_ you look awful. I'll be right back, okay?" Roderich said. Without really looking at the man standing over him, Gilbert nodded, shut his eyes again, and hugged a pillow to his chest as the sounds of muffled footsteps on carpet drifted away.

Roderich returned in a few moments and placed a cool cloth on Gilbert's forehead. The albino shuddered at first when it touched his hot forehead, but then he sighed softly. "Does that feel better, Gil?" Roderich asked.

"Mmhmm," Gilbert mumbled.

"Here, I brought you some more medicine and some orange juice. I want you to take this," Roderich instructed gently. Gilbert nodded, propped himself up against the pillows, took the pills and the glass from Roderich, and swallowed them. It seemed as though the pills were doing little to help his persistent cough, though. After drinking all the orange juice, he flopped back down onto the mattress again and gave a weary sigh. Roderich pulled the covers back up over him, adjusted the cloth on his forehead, and pushed his sweaty silver hair away from his face.

"I'm going to go and practice the piano for a little while," the Austrian said. "I'll be back in a little while to make sure you're all right." For the first time since the previous morning, Gilbert truly focused on Roderich's face. His slender eyebrows were knitted slightly in concern, his purple eyes wide, the corners of his mouth curving ever so slightly upward. If the albino wasn't so tired, he might have thought about handsome Roderich looked, or about how sweet he was being at the moment. But all Gilbert could think of was how much his head ached, how sore and heavy and cold his body felt, how scratchy and painful his throat was. "I hope you feel better soon, Gilbert," Roderich added in a low voice.

"Thanks," Gilbert croaked as Roderich pushed the door open gently and slipped into the hallway.

That night, Gilbert hardly slept at all. At around five in the morning, still unable to sleep, he tossed and turned, coughing so uncontrollably that his chest ached and burned. His coughs were deep and dry. He did not even hear Roderich open the door to the guest bedroom in which Gilbert still slept. "Gilbert," the Austrian mumbled sleepily as he poked his head in through the door and rubbed his eyes. Blinking steadily, he strained to see in the dark without his glasses.

"I-I can't sleep, Roderich," Gilbert managed to say between coughs.

Roderich circled around the bed and sat next to Gilbert. "I know, Gil," he said, "I know."

"I didn't wake you did I?"

The Austrian chuckled humorlessly. "This time, you did," he admitted. "But it's all right." He ran a soothing pair of hands up and down Gilbert's back until his coughing slowed and finally subsided, at least for the moment.

The albino sniffled, cleared his throat, and glanced over his shoulder to peer at Roderich through the blackness of the last vestiges of night before dawn. Roderich still had not stopped rubbing his back. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Gilbert asked hoarsely.

"Well, even if I still do not remember you, I do know we are married," Roderich replied coolly. "I've made a promise. And I believe it goes something like, 'in sickness and in health,' doesn't it?" Gilbert nodded weakly. "I still hope I might remember someday soon."

"I hope so, too," Gilbert said.

After a long moment of silence, Roderich cleared his throat. Even in the darkness, Gilbert thought he saw the Austrian's gaze focus almost ruefully on the floor. "Besides, I feel a bit guilty for the way I treated you the other night…" he mumbled as he played absently with the edge of the bed sheet. The first bits of soft pink and golden light streamed into the room from behind the closed blinds.

"No, Roderich, I'm the one who should feel guilty," Gilbert said. "I know it's difficult. I know you would remember if you could. I was just being a jerk. Just like I always am." He sighed and then swallowed hard in an attempt to soothe his burning throat. Now that Gilbert was sick and exhausted, it was easy to see how unfair he'd been to Roderich three days ago, when he'd been frustrated and caught in the heat of the moment. If he kept treating everyone this way, they would all soon abandon him and he would be all alone again…

"Maybe so," Roderich said, interrupting Gilbert's thoughts. "But let's not think about that right now. You're tired. You just need some rest, all right?" All Gilbert could do was nod. Roderich gave him a quick pat on the back before he vanished again into the fading blackness. Once Roderich had left, Gilbert shut his eyes once again and at last began to drift off to sleep.

Gilbert managed to sleep for only a few hours. When he woke around eight in the morning, he could not find sleep again. He thought about getting up and taking some more medicine, but instead lay on his side and listened to the eerie stillness of the house. Roderich was probably still soundly asleep in the other room. Distantly, Gilbert could hear the hum of the air conditioner downstairs. Occasionally, a whooshing sound and the growl of an engine stirred the silence when a car went by outside. Gilbert found himself thinking about how peaceful cars sounded when they passed outside late in the night or early in the morning. They disturbed the silence and the peace for only a moment. They didn't crash into each other. There were no sounds of tires skidding, of glass shattering, of horns honking, of drivers and passengers yelling and screaming. Just a whoosh and the brief hum of an engine, and then silence again.

In another few hours, Roderich woke and came to check on Gilbert again. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked. Gilbert simply shook his head against the pillow. Roderich bent and pressed his lips briefly to the albino's forehead. "Gilbert, you're burning up," he said once he'd pulled away.

"But I feel cold," Gilbert said. As if to confirm his words, his body trembled slightly.

"Well, then I'll go and get you another blanket, all right?" Roderich said. He started to make his way back toward the door, but halted halfway there, and cast a glance over his shoulder at Gilbert. "Ah, where _are_ the blankets?"

Gilbert laughed sadly, a laugh that cracked and dissolved into coughs. Roderich had just reminded him that he still did not remember everything. "The little closet next to the bathroom," he replied, and watched the Austrian retreat into the hallway.

Roderich returned carrying a blanket, which he draped carefully over Gilbert. For a moment, he hovered over the silver-haired man without speaking another word. Then, at last, he said, "I was going to make myself some tea. Would you like some? It might make your throat feel better."

"That would be nice," Gilbert said. Roderich was going to turn him into a tea-drinker one of these days.

After Roderich brought Gilbert some tea, the Austrian ambled in and out of the other man's room all day, checking on him, bringing him food, water, tea, and medicine. Each time Roderich vanished again, Gilbert would close his eyes and try to sleep. But when he heard piano or violin melodies from downstairs, he couldn't help but lay still and listen to Roderich practice. He regained a little shard of his skill each day. By now, he played almost as well as he had just before the accident, when he was at the peak of his ability from having spent weeks preparing to perform his big piano concerto.

* * *

The next morning when Gilbert woke after a long, restful night, he felt much better. His coughs had softened and become less frequent. He felt a little less sore. When he opened his eyes to bright light that flooded the bedroom, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and wondered what day of the week it was. At some point during the four days he'd spent in bed, he'd managed to lose track of time. The day he'd cooked dinner for Roderich had been a Sunday. Mentally, he counted each day since then. Today was Friday.

Late that morning, Roderich came in to check on Gilbert, just as he always did. This time when he bent to press his lips to the albino's forehead, a smile crossed his face as he pulled away. "That's much better," he said pleasantly. "I think your fever is breaking."

"Well, I feel a lot better," Gilbert replied.

"That's good to hear. You should probably stay in bed today, though, just to make sure you're all right," Roderich commented before he turned to leave once again. But just as he had pushed the door open, he froze to a dead halt, glanced over his shoulder at Gilbert, turned his head to stare out the door again, and looked back at Gilbert one more time. "Wait," he said in a voice that was faint and a little shaky.

"What?"

"I took care of you like this over our Christmas vacation in Vienna," Roderich said haltingly, hesitating a little after each word he spoke. "You…you were so…upset. You thought you'd ruin our Christmas. But you didn't. We had a lovely Christmas."

"_What_?" Gilbert repeated, disbelief hanging in his weak voice. Instantly, he felt his pulse leap in his chest and then speed ahead like a car that was racing down a hill.

Roderich turned on his heel and came to sit down on the bed next to Gilbert. He rested his head in his hand and turned questioning purple eyes toward Gilbert. "The strangest thing just happened to me," he said quietly. "All of a sudden, I just started remembering things. First, I remembered Christmas with you in Vienna. Then, I remembered when we got married, and we went to the French Riviera, and how wonderful that was. And then I remembered…well, it feels like _everything_."

"Roderich…" Gilbert whispered as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Roderich, are you…serious…"

Instead of replying, Roderich took Gilbert's hand in his, wound his free arm around the albino's neck, leaned in close, and kissed him softly. When he pulled away slowly, he rested his forehead against Gilbert's and whispered, "I remember, Gilbert. And I love you."

"I…I love you too, Roderich…so much…" Gilbert said shakily, and caressed Roderich's cheek with the back of his hand before he tilted his head and leaned in for another kiss. When his lips had nearly met Roderich's, he hesitated and gazed longingly into those gorgeous amethyst eyes. "Wait," he breathed. "We probably shouldn't kiss just yet. I'm still sick, you know. I don't want to get you sick too."

"Gilbert, seriously." Roderich huffed audibly and rolled his eyes. "I don't fucking care right now. If I get sick, too, so be it. We can be sick together." Gilbert felt the corners of his mouth curve upward into a smile, one that was more powerful and unstoppable and genuine than every single one of his smiles since the day of the accident. For the most part, they had been forced, worn like a costume to make those around him believe he was all right, when in reality, he had been falling apart on the inside. But this one felt easy and natural. As if pulled by some magnetic force, Gilbert finally let his lips meet Roderich's again.

When the two men kissed for the second time, with parted lips, opened mouths, and tongues that wandered and touched and tasted, the reality of the moment finally dawned on Gilbert. After more than three months of heartbreak, of daily visits to the hospital, of pleading and praying, and finally, of tension and arguments and hurt feelings, he finally had his Roderich back. Not the Roderich who had been wandering around his home for the past three weeks, but the Roderich he'd fallen in love with, the Roderich he'd married. He had begun to fear this moment would never come. But now, locked in a deep kiss with the only man he'd ever truly loved, those three and a half months of horror had come to a sudden end. And it was shocking, crazy, and even a little scary. But it was also happy, wonderful, beautiful, and perfect.

After a few moments, the need for oxygen became inescapable, and the two were forced to break the kiss. Breathless and wide-eyed with wonder, Gilbert stared at Roderich, briefly stunned into silence. But then he flung his arms around the Austrian and cried, "Roderich! _Mein Gott,_ Roderich! Oh, I missed you so much! You don't even understand. I-I-you're back, you're back, you're back…" Words poured from his lips as though his brain had ceased to have control over his mouth. He pressed his face into Roderich's chest and inhaled shakily as the other man's arms wrapped around him. They stayed like that without moving for only a moment or two before Gilbert put one arm around Roderich's waist, slid the other under both his legs, and lifted him up off the bed. Holding the Austrian above him, he craned his neck and leaned up for another kiss before spinning them both around a few times. Roderich laughed, a sound that was such sweet music to Gilbert's ears, and threaded his fingers gently through the albino's silvery hair.

Gilbert started to get dizzy and felt that he couldn't hold onto Roderich for much longer. He backed up until they were next to the bed, and they both collapsed onto the mattress next to each other. Gilbert gazed into purple eyes with his crimson ones for a brief moment of silence before they both laughed and shared another quick kiss. The albino shifted in closer to Roderich and buried his face into the crook of the other man's neck. "Roddy, don't get up. Don't go anywhere. Just stay here. Please," Gilbert whispered as his hand searched for Roderich's.

"Of course," Roderich said. He took Gilbert's hand and ran his thumb across the back of it. The two stayed just like that for a long time. They did not move. They did not speak. They lay where they had settled, smiling softly at each other. Every once in a while, one of the two would sigh in relief and happiness, barely stirring the stillness of the home for only an ephemeral moment.

After what could have been hours, Gilbert followed Roderich downstairs into the room containing the grand piano. He settled into the chair the Austrian had set up for him shortly after they'd moved in together, when Gilbert discovered he loved to sit and listen to Roderich play. For some reason, the music that lilted from that piano sounded so much sweeter today. He traced every movement of the brunette's fingers as they danced across the keys, watching, mesmerized, reminding himself with every note that this insanely talented man was his and no one else's. For a while, Gilbert had forgotten. For a while, it seemed as though he'd lost Roderich, even when they'd been sitting in the same room.

Roderich and Gilbert spent the afternoon in each other's arms idly watching television, as though the intensity of emotions that had rushed through them that morning had made them too weary to do much else. Occasionally, they shared a kiss. Occasionally, one of the two would shift in just a little bit closer. When the light began to soften outside, Gilbert's stomach growled. In all the excitement of the day, neither of the two men had eaten lunch. "Roddy, I'm hungry," Gilbert announced absently. "Why don't we go out for dinner?"

"No," Roderich said firmly. "Let's stay here."

"But I'm feeling a lot better now," Gilbert said. "It's fine, really. I…"

"I want to cook for you," the Austrian said softly. "You've done so much for me over the past three months. Now I'd like to do something for you."

Gilbert rested his head on Roderich's shoulder. "Yeah, but you already took care of me when I was sick," he murmured. "And you didn't even remember me then."

"But four days does not make up for the three months you spent worrying over me," Roderich replied. "I must have just put you through hell."

Gilbert shrugged and gave a sad little laugh. "Yeah, kind of."

After lifting Gilbert's head gently from his shoulder, Roderich stood and pushed away the blanket they'd been wrapped up in. "Then the least I can do is make you dinner. Hey, I'll make your favorite."

"Spaetzle with cheese and bacon?" Gilbert said without a moment of thought.

"I know what you like, Gil."

Gilbert stood and followed Roderich into the kitchen. He didn't want to spend even a moment separated from his husband, at least not right now. "Of course you do," he said, shaking his head incredulously as he trailed after the Austrian, wearing a big, stupid grin. He rested his elbows against the counter and watched Roderich move about the kitchen. His purple eyes carefully scanned the cabinets and the refrigerator for ingredients, which he lined up on the counter next to him. Gilbert's eyes traced the other man's every movement as if he was afraid that Roderich could vanish into thin air at any moment and be lost forever.

After cooking for around thirty minutes, Roderich lined a pan with strips of bacon and watched them as they started to sizzle. Gilbert wrapped his arms around the Austrian's waist from behind and rested his face against the other man's upper back. "I'm so glad you're back," he said. "I know I said it already but…I just…am."

"I'm glad to be back," Roderich replied with a little chuckle. Gilbert hummed happily and held Roderich a little more tightly than before. The Austrian glanced over his shoulder and arched a single eyebrow at the man who clung to him. "Idiot, I can't cook your favorite dish if you don't let me move," he said in a very serious tone of voice, without the slightest ghost of a smile. Gilbert stared back at him with a gaze that was just as unrelenting, knowing that Roderich was just joking. After a moment, in which they stared each other down like enemies who were about to face off, Gilbert blinked and giggled. Roderich laughed, too, before giving the other man a gentle shove. "No, really, let me cook," he said playfully. The albino stepped back reluctantly to let Roderich finish preparing their dinner.

When the meal was finished, they settled down at the dinner table and, for the first time that day, lost themselves in conversation. They had needed no words. Just sharing each other's presence had been enough. Roderich asked Gilbert what had happened when he was gone, and Gilbert had to pause and think for a moment. Not much of importance had occurred in the Austrian's absence. Though life had continued on around him, it was as though Gilbert's world had stopped turning when his husband had vanished from his life. Now, all of a sudden, his world was turning again – no, not just turning. It was spinning, twirling, dancing, doing crazy and joyous flips. Still reeling from the shock of all the return of Roderich's memory, Gilbert found that he could not eat as much of the rich-tasting meal as he normally would have. But neither could the man seated across from him.

The strangest thing, perhaps, about that day was that Gilbert finally got to climb into bed next to Roderich, cuddle up to him, and let their shared body heat keep them warm as the air conditioner chilled their home. Though he had grown used to sleeping alone for much of his life, he had never liked it. Nothing was sweeter or more reassuring than to close his eyes knowing that when he awoke the next morning, someone he cared about would be right next to him. As Gilbert pulled Roderich into his arms and let his eyelids slide shut, he was torn between wanting to lie peacefully in bed next to the man he loved, and wanting to bend him over and spend the night having some very rough sex.

After a long moment of thought, Gilbert kissed the back of Roderich's neck. "I love you, Roderich. Good night," he murmured.

"I love you too, Gilbert," Roderich replied.

He'd save the sex for tomorrow.

* * *

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**

**Oh, by the way…the meal Roderich made…I had that meal at a local Austrian restaurant so that's what I based it on. (Yes, Austrian, not German.)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, I feel the need to warn you all in advance...this is probably the dirtiest thing I've ever written.**

**Well, enjoy! :P**

* * *

The following evening, Roderich and Gilbert ate the leftover spaetzle they had been unable to finish the previous night. Throughout the entire dinner, Gilbert stared across the table at the Austrian, hungry for something other than spaetzle. He wondered if Roderich could read the meaning in his eager stare, could tell what he wanted – no, _needed_ – in the way Gilbert's lips curved upward into a smirk between bites.

After dinner, Roderich settled into the couch, put on a CD of Strauss waltzes, shut his eyes, and listened while Gilbert washed the dishes, which he had offered to do. When the albino wandered into the living room, Roderich glanced up at him from the couch as the waltz lilted from the speakers. "Do you want to dance?" he asked, a small smile playing upon his lips.

"Of course," Gilbert replied. Roderich took Gilbert's hands gently in his, pulled him in close, and started to lead him in small, tentative steps across the room. When they had started dating, Roderich had insisted upon teaching Gilbert how to dance, which the albino wasn't too fond of at first. Subconsciously, the Austrian had taught him the steps for a woman, which was a secret he'd vowed never to reveal to Ludwig, Antonio, or Francis. But at the moment, he didn't mind. He was content to follow Roderich's lead as the other man's arm wrapped around him and their foreheads rested together.

The pressure of the Austrian's palm against his was weaker than it usually was. Roderich was still struggling to regain his strength, though he got better with each passing day. Gilbert gazed into Roderich's sparkling purple eyes and felt the corners of his mouth pull upward. It felt so odd to smile this often after having felt dismal and hopeless for so long. It was almost as though he had to re-learn what it meant to be truly happy. But if he knew nothing else, Gilbert knew that he felt happy in Roderich's arms. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the Strauss waltz that played in the background.

"I love you, too," Roderich said, and kissed Gilbert softly. It was a sweet, chaste kiss, lips closed, eyes shut, bodies still swaying in time to the music. Gilbert paused to think that the two of them hadn't shared enough kisses like that, even before the accident. Their kisses were often rough, and had the tendency to lead to vigorous sex. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. But as awful as the past three months had been, Gilbert knew that in a way, it had made them appreciate each other. It reminded them of the moments they had never used to take the time to share.

Those thoughts were wiped from Gilbert's mind as Roderich shifted in a little closer. The two men were now pressed nearly flush against each other. Gilbert could feel their shared body heat slowly warming him. As Roderich led the two of them in a different direction, their hips brushed. Gilbert shuddered and felt himself start to get hard. They were so close to each other that it was almost inevitable that he'd get turned on at some point. Inhaling deeply, he continued to follow Roderich's lead and wondered how long it would take the other man to notice. Though he'd been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever, Gilbert wasn't about to rush things, because this time had to be special.

After a few moments, Gilbert's movements grew stiff as the hardness between his legs made it uncomfortable for him to move freely. He tensed in Roderich's arms, drew in a few quivering breaths, and tried as hard as he possibly could not to beg the Austrian to come to bed with him. Roderich arched one chocolate-brown eyebrow at him and gave him a questioning glance as he struggled to keep up with the waltz steps. Both men slowed to a halt. An open palm trailed across Gilbert's erection. At this point, he could deny it no longer. He placed his lips next to Roderich's ear and whispered, "I want you so badly."

Roderich chuckled. "I know," he said in a low voice. "I knew that even before I remembered who you were."

"Will you actually get into bed with me this time?"

"_Ja_."

Gilbert breathed a long sigh of relief. "Good," he said. "Let's go upstairs."

He could hardly keep his hands off Roderich as they climbed the steps. At first, he took the Austrian's hand. But soon, he let his hand slip away and come to rest on the other man's ass. Roderich did not protest, but instead peered at Gilbert out of the corner of his eye with a glance that was vaguely amused.

Gilbert flung the door to their bedroom open so roughly that the handle ricocheted into the wall and made a loud cracking noise. He grabbed the collar of Roderich's shirt and kissed him with lustful eagerness as he pushed the other man onto their bed. As his hands roamed Roderich's body, Gilbert came to his senses as if he'd suddenly awoken from a blissful dream, realizing that there wasn't as much romance in this moment as he'd intended. Pausing for a moment, he stared into his husband's eyes – those beautiful, glowing purple eyes he'd ached so badly to gaze into while he'd been lying unresponsive in the hospital. Gilbert allowed a small smile to creep onto his face before he began kissing Roderich again, more softly and slowly this time. "Mmm, Roderich, I…I love you…I love you so much…" he murmured in between kisses.

"I love you too, Gilbert," Roderich replied when he had the chance. First, he removed his glasses and set them neatly on the nightstand. Then, he reached up and unbuttoned Gilbert's shirt with careful slowness, and then pulled his undershirt off over his head. Gilbert did the same for Roderich, and then trailed a hand along the other man's bare chest before placing gentle yet firm kisses along the newly exposed skin. He kissed up and down Roderich's chest, and then took one of his nipples captive between his teeth to suck and finally bite down gently. The Austrian whimpered faintly, and Gilbert smirked. He moved to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. This time, Roderich gave a short, breathy moan. Upon hearing that delicious sound, Gilbert's mind drifted back to the first time the two of them had slept together. He had been pleasantly surprised when he discovered that Roderich could be fairly vocal in bed, and ever since, he had used that knowledge to his advantage. Through the time they'd known each other, he had memorized every movement he could make, each motion of his tongue or hands or hips that could draw a sigh, a gasp, a whimper, or a moan from his lover's lips. Now, Gilbert found that he had to re-memorize those motions, the ones that had not worked on Ivan, having produced nothing but blank stares and husky commands to "just get on with it, _da_?"

Finally, Gilbert stripped away his pants and underpants, freeing his waiting erection. He removed Roderich's pants next and paused to stare at the other man, who was now fully naked. Three and a half months. He had waited for this moment, craved this moment, _ached_ for this moment for three and a half months. But he would have to wait, to crave, to ache for a few more moments. If they were going to do this, Gilbert would make sure they'd do it right. Tonight, it was going to be all about Roderich. He bent at the waist so that his head was between the Austrian's knees and started to lick up and down his erect member.

That moan again. That sweet, delicious, lust-inducing moan of Roderich's. As Gilbert continued to lick and taste, he wanted to touch himself so badly, just to feel a little relief from the sounds his husband was making. But he held back instead. The sensation he'd feel once he slid inside Roderich would be so much more intense if he waited. A long moment slipped away. Maybe it had gone by quickly for Roderich, but it had crawled by for Gilbert. He had just started to take the Austrian's cock down his throat when he realized he could not wait another moment. He started to pull away slowly. "Mmh…Roddy, I…want you…right now…" he mumbled between increasingly shortened licks.

"Okay…yes…yes…right now," Roderich replied in a strained voice.

Gilbert pulled away fully. "Be back in a second. We need some lube," he muttered, and wandered into the bathroom to find some lubricant. He should have thought about that earlier and set it on the nightstand before they got started so he wouldn't have to stumble around while fully hard and agonizingly eager. He opened the cabinets. It wasn't sitting in its usual place. Gilbert pushed aside a few bottles of shampoo and medicine and still didn't find any. Hurriedly, he started throwing random objects out of the cabinet, in frantic search of that little tube that he knew should be there somewhere.

"_Scheisse!_" Gilbert yelled after he had torn apart almost the entire contents of the cabinet under the sink.

"What?" Roderich said.

"We're out of lubricant. I don't think we should…" Gilbert trailed off, but Roderich surely knew what he meant. "I…I just don't want to hurt you. Especially when you've been, ah, _out of the game_ for a while."

Roderich nodded tensely, his face strained, his cheeks tinted pink. "But that doesn't mean we're not going to finish what we started," Gilbert added with a mischievous smirk. He flopped back down onto the bed in front of Roderich. He slid both hands between Roderich's thighs and eased them back apart. Without any further warning, he parted his lips and let his mouth once again engulf Roderich's hot cock. His tongue moved up and down the back of the shaft as he started to take the length of it down his throat.

"Gilbert, let me see you touch yourself," Roderich said suddenly. It sounded much more like a command than a request.

It was useless for Gilbert to try to keep himself from giggling. "Oh, would you like tha'?" he half-mumbled with his mouth still full. "Roddy, you dirty boy, you."

"Don't tease me, Gilbert!" Roderich scolded weakly. His hips jerked a little at the sensation of the vibrations of Gilbert's voice against his erection. "I've essentially been asleep for two months!"

"I 'asn't gon' say no!" Gilbert said with another little giggle. "I jus' think it's funny." Even as he spoke those words against Roderich's cock, he spread his own thighs a little further apart and slid a hand between them, fingers curling around his waiting and needy erection. He sighed in a long moment of pause while he thought of how this was so unlike Roderich – so desperate, wanting, almost lustful. Well, his Austrian hadn't been touched _at all_ for more than three months. That was probably enough to make anyone desperate. Not that Gilbert was complaining. There was something about the usually reserved and proper Roderich practically demanding that Gilbert touch himself that just drove him crazy with desire. He felt himself get a little harder just thinking about it. So he began to stroke himself, slowly at first, tilting crimson eyes upward to gaze at Roderich. Gorgeous purple eyes were half-lidded, desperately trying to stay open to watch Gilbert touch himself. Feeling the greedy way in which the Austrian was eyeing him, he started to jerk at his erection faster.

"Mmnh, G-Gil…" Roderich mumbled as his fingers wound through Gilbert's silvery hair. To Gilbert, that was a token of permission. He swallowed Roderich's cock deeper and flicked his tongue faster up and down the length of it. His eyelids finally slid shut as he worked his hand up and down his own erection. He _wanted_ to watch Roderich watching him, to watch every surrender-filled expression that crossed that handsome face. But even with his mouth around the Austrian's cock, Gilbert wanted a moment to just think about how good it felt to finally be with _Roderich_ again. He sighed happily as he realized there _couldn't_ be anyone else but Roderich; it simply was not possible any longer. A few nights in bed with Ivan had taught him that.

Opening his eyes again and letting his gaze settled back on Roderich, Gilbert couldn't help but sigh and groan in pleasure as his tongue worked up and down Roderich's cock in time with the jerks of his own hand on his erection. Usually, he would have tried to stop himself from making such noises, but now wasn't the time to keep Roderich from knowing what he was feeling. Not after almost three months. He felt the grip of the fingers that wound through his hair grow a little tighter. The muscles in Roderich's thigh tensed under Gilbert's free hand as the Austrian's back arched. Just seconds later, Roderich gave a shuddering cry of "Gilbert!" and came, spilling hot and thick down Gilbert's throat.

Gilbert choked a little but swallowed every bit of it. He had started to lick his lips of the last traces when Roderich bent down for a firm kiss. The Austrian's tongue slid over Gilbert's lips, licking them clean, and Gilbert opened his mouth to let that tongue wander inside. Roderich took the albino's erect cock in his hand and started stroking and jerking it. Gilbert sighed in sweet relief at the sensation of that familiar pair of hands running up and down his arousal. Yes, they were weaker than he remembered, as it would take some time and a lot of piano playing for their usual strength to return, but they were _Roderich's_ hands, and that was all that mattered. Those hands continued to tug and touch while Roderich continued to kiss Gilbert, open-mouthed, wet tongues sliding across each other, until Gilbert came with a gasp of "Roderich" into the other man's hand.

Afterwards, they slid down against the mattress together, both still hot and a little sticky. Gilbert couldn't wipe the satisfied grin from his face. How long he'd waited for this moment! And tomorrow would be even better. "Gil, I'm so tired," Roderich mumbled, his eyelids already starting to slide shut.

Gilbert laughed lightly as he draped an arm over Roderich's waist and scooted in behind the Austrian so that their bodies fit perfectly together. "Yeah, it's the most activity you've had in three fucking months," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Roderich laughed a little, too, before he fell silent, having dozed off. Gilbert reached over to the nightstand and turned off the little lamp that sat atop it. He pressed his nose into the back of Roderich's neck and couldn't help but kiss its warm skin softly a few times before he, too, closed his eyes. Those kisses did not awaken the sleeping Austrian, but the way his chest rose and fell, his breaths still coming in a bit unevenly as both men's pulses slowed to normal, reminded Gilbert that they were together again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite this happy.

* * *

**Wow, so…I kind of just wrote a chapter that was almost entirely devoted to smut. **

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey, everyone! So I wanted to apologize for taking so long to update. College has kind of been kicking my ass lately. But I'm here with a new chapter! I hope it was worth the wait!**

**To answer two questions that have come up more than once:**

**First of all, there will be 16 chapters in this fic. Hopefully you'll see why soon.**

**Second, I'm not an English major, but I'm a public relations/journalism major! So yes, writing is kind of my career. **

**Well, enjoy!**

* * *

Early the following afternoon, Gilbert ambled through the aisles of the local market, crimson eyes scanning the shelves he passed in search of the single item he was searching for. He halted, looked over his shoulder as if to ensure no one was following him, and reached past hanging boxes of condoms to grab a tube of lubricant. Just as he had started to turn toward the cash register, he reached for a second one. With any luck, they'd need it. Would they need a third tube? He stood and raised a finger to his lips in thought.

"Gilbert! Hi!"

Without thinking about the two tubes of lubricant he clutched in one hand, Gilbert spun around at the sound of that familiar face. He found himself gazing at a predictably cheerful Feliciano, who carried a basket stuffed with boxes of dry pasta and a few bags of vegetables. "Hello, Felici-"

"You're not sleeping with Ivan again, are you?" Feliciano said in a tone of voice that was surprisingly dark and edgy. In that moment, he almost sounded like his older brother Lovino. His bright brown eyes had locked onto the containers of lubricant in Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert's eyes followed Feliciano's almost instinctually before returning to the Italian's face. "No, I…" he started to say, before he realized _Feliciano didn't know_. Ludwig didn't know. Francis and Antonio didn't know. No one knew Roderich had remembered Gilbert. In the flood of emotions – and admittedly the desire for sex – that had consumed the two men since the moment Roderich's memories had returned to him, all other thoughts were wiped from their minds. "Feli. _Feli._ Roderich remembered," he said, his voice faint. Those words felt so strange on his tongue. He had waited so long to speak them, but somewhere between arguments and shattered dreams, Gilbert had started to believe he'd never get the chance.

Feliciano's mouth fell open a little. The basket of groceries started to slip from his fingers, and he had to lunge for it to keep from spilling boxes of pasta onto the ground. "He _did?_" the Italian asked in a voice that was so small and tentative that it was almost lost in the sounds of customers shuffling about the market to pick out groceries and order cuts of meat. Gilbert could only nod. "Gil! That's great!" Feliciano cried. "_Dio Mio,_ that's wonderful!" He flung his arms around Gilbert and clung to him almost as tightly as though it was _his _lover who had just remembered him. A moment passed. Still, Feliciano did not let go. But Gilbert didn't mind. As he spoke to the Italian, the memory of that sweet moment played again in his mind, and he felt the joy of that day all over again. He could hear Roderich's words echoing in his thoughts: _I took care of you like this over our Christmas vacation in Vienna. _He again felt the way his heart had nearly stopped…

"Gil, did you tell Luddy?" Feliciano asked when he finally released the albino and took a small step back.

Running a hand through his silvery hair, Gilbert laughed. "No, not yet! I didn't tell anyone yet. You're the first to hear! It was just…so exciting that I…kind of…forgot."

The Italian took hold of Gilbert's arm and shook it amiably. "Well, you _gotta_ tell your brother, Gilbert!" he proclaimed with a laugh of his own. "Wait…you and Roderich should come to dinner with us tonight! Does that sound good?"

"Of course," Gilbert said with a smile. _That_ would be a fun way to surprise Ludwig! He and Roderich would walk hand in hand to meet Ludwig and Feliciano at the restaurant, and then he'd give Roderich a kiss while his brother watched. Gilbert could imagine the look of shock that would invade Ludwig's face! His gaze moved to the tubes of lubricant he still held in his hands before shifting back to Feliciano's face. "I guess I should…pay for these," he said, his cheeks pinking slightly.

"Oh, so then you and Roderich are going to have a fun night tonight, aren't you?" Feliciano nearly sang as he gave Gilbert an innocent smile. Not even the slightest discernible trace of crimson was evident in the color of his cheeks.

"I guess you could say that."

Feliciano turned and started to make his way to the checkout when he paused, looked back over his shoulder, and bounded back to where Gilbert stood. "Oh, Gil, thanks for reminding me! Ludwig and I need some more of this too!" He reached forward, pulled two tubes of lubricant off the shelf, and dropped them into his basket, still without a hint of shame.

The two made their way toward the checkout together and paid for their items. They walked out the front door of the market. Gilbert turned to walk toward home, but before he did, Feliciano caught him gently by the arm. "Gilbert! I almost forgot! We're going to dinner at seven, okay?"

"Okay, I'll see you then! _Ciao,_ Feli!"

"_Ciao!_" Feliciano called over his shoulder as he headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

At seven o'clock that evening, Gilbert took Roderich's hand as they entered the restaurant together. Crimson eyes flitted around in search of Ludwig and Feliciano. Just when Gilbert was ready to dig out his cell phone and text his brother, he caught a glimpse of a grinning Italian waving at him energetically, and Ludwig's familiar slicked-back blonde hair. "Hey, you two!" Gilbert called as he and Roderich made their way over to the pair, who were already seated at a table.

"_Hallo,_ Gil-"

Ludwig halted mid-sentence when he saw the way Gilbert and Roderich's fingers were intertwined. Almost unconsciously, Gilbert gave the Austrian's hand a little squeeze as a small smile crossed his husband's face. Then, just as he had planned, Gilbert wrapped an arm around Roderich's waist, leaned in, and kissed him softly on the lips. When he pulled away, his eyes were still shut. But he wanted to see the look on Ludwig's face, so he opened his eyes and tore his gaze away from Roderich's face to let it settle on Ludwig and Feliciano.

"Am I missing something?" Ludwig said. His blue eyes widened. He set down the slice of bread in his hand and blinked steadily. Feliciano, seated beside him, wore a grin so huge it almost looked fake.

A smirk flickered onto Roderich's face for the briefest of moments. "This is a pretty nice place," he commented. His eyes roamed about the interior of the restaurant, halting first on its amber-hued lighting, and then on the small manmade waterfall near its entrance. "Gilbert, do you remember that time when it was so late and we were both so hungry, so you drove us to McDonalds in the middle of the night?"

Gilbert flopped down into the seat across from Ludwig and patted the spot to his right. Roderich settled down next to him. "I remember that!" he said, punctuating his sentence with a laugh. "It was so funny to see you stuffing your face with a hamburger. Seems like something that Alfred guy would do. It was so…_ungentlemanly,_ Priss." He shoved Roderich's shoulder.

"Ungentlemanly, my ass," Roderich said coolly as he reached out to flick Gilbert's nose. "You're hardly _ever_ gentlemanly. Who are you to talk?"

"_Am I missing something?_" Ludwig echoed, more insistently than last time. Ice-blue eyes bore straight into Gilbert's, begging for answers.

"Oh…Roderich remembered and stuff," Gilbert said nonchalantly. "We-"

"When?" Ludwig demanded. "When did this happen? Today?"

Taking a long sip of wine, Gilbert had to think about his answer before he opened his mouth to reply. The days since Roderich had regained his memory had been so full with emotion that they had been almost dizzying. Time had slipped away without measure. It could have been a day, four days, a week. "Two days ago," Gilbert finally answered.

"Two days ago?" Ludwig repeated. Gilbert nodded as he shot his brother a satisfied smirk. "Two – Gilbert! Why didn't you tell me sooner? _Mein Gott…_that…" He blinked steadily a few times and inhaled deeply before speaking again. "Never mind. Never mind! That's great, you two. That's wonderful news!" Ludwig gave Gilbert and Roderich a smile, but it didn't seem as enthusiastic as Gilbert might have expected. Not that Ludwig tended to be as overtly emotional as Feliciano was. But for some reason, there was some sort of reserved quality, a feeling of hesitance in the way Ludwig smiled today, even in the way he spoke. Gilbert arched an eyebrow silently at his brother, but the taller blonde said nothing and instead focused his blue eyes on the slice of bread on his plate.

Over the course of the meal, Ludwig continued to be even more silent than usual. He aimed his gaze into his food rather than at the other three men seated at the table. Often, he slipped a hand into his pocket under the table, as if checking to see that his cell phone had not fallen out onto the floor. At one point, just as they were about to finish their meals, Ludwig looked up and gave Gilbert a strange smile. Gilbert knew his brother well enough to be able to read that unusual expression. Ludwig looked…_nervous, _and the older brother couldn't understand why. Instead of agonizing over what might be going on, Gilbert simply gave him a reassuring smile in return, lifted the glass of wine in front of him to his lips, and sipped deeply.

Mid-sip, he paused to reflect that it had been a while since he had drunk any wine. He'd toss back mugs of beer and shot glasses full of hard liquor, not with the intention of adding flavor to his dinner, but with the desire to wipe all thoughts from his mind for a few hours. The last time Gilbert's hands had held a wine glass, he had ended up snapping at two of his best friends in trying to convince them that he hadn't broken down over his husband's motionless body in the hospital. Gilbert snuck a glance at Roderich out of the corner of his eye. The Austrian lifted a forkful of food to his mouth and chewed slowly as he gazed at nothing in particular. Now, all of a sudden, all of that was over. He wondered how long it would take for the memories of those months to fade, for the pain that accompanied them to lose its stinging bite.

At the end of an abnormally quiet dinner, the four men stood together and shuffled out of the restaurant, after Ludwig had insisted on paying for the entire group, as usual. The moonlight and the glow of the city lights illuminated the sidewalk as they all walked toward home together. Silvery light reflected off Roderich's eyes and made them sparkle as though they were two of the stars that were hidden by the city smog. This time, instead of holding a distant, cold, dismal beauty, what glimmered in those eyes was alive and present. Gilbert smiled but said nothing, deciding instead to walk beside the three other men in silence. He bid Ludwig and Feliciano goodbye as they turned toward their home and continued to walk with Roderich until they arrived at their doorstep.

Gilbert and Roderich sat at the kitchen table an hour later to eat the cake Roderich had made that afternoon. Gilbert set his fork down to take a sip of his decaffeinated coffee as Roderich raised his teacup to his lips. In the middle of a long sip of the steaming liquid, the phone rang. The coffee mug the albino had been holding made a little sound as he set it down on the table. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear.

"He said yes."

The voice on the other end of the line sounded shaky, but it belonged unmistakably to his brother. "Hello to you, Lud," Gilbert said teasingly.

"Oh, sorry! Hello, Gilbert," Ludwig said.

"Now do you want to tell me what you're talking about?" Gilbert demanded.

There was a moment of silence. Gilbert glanced at Roderich out of the corner of his eye. The Austrian chewed a piece of cake thoughtfully, still gripping his fork in one hand. "Feliciano said yes, Gil," Ludwig said. "I-I proposed, and he…he said yes."

"What? _What?_ Ludwig, that…that's great!" Gilbert nearly shouted into the phone.

"That _was_ my ear," the younger brother said dryly.

Gilbert chuckled lightly. "Sorry, Lud! But you know what? Now we're even, because you never told me you were gonna propose!"

In the ephemeral moment of silence that followed, two cogs suddenly meshed in Gilbert's mind. _That _was why Ludwig had seemed so abnormally silent and nervous at dinner. And he'd had a _ring_ in his pocket. "Hmm. I suppose you're right," Ludwig replied at last. Another pause, and then: "So, Gil, you're going to be my best man, aren't you?"

"Of course. What are brothers for?"

* * *

Late that night, Gilbert and Roderich settled into bed together. Gilbert moved in behind Roderich and draped an arm lazily over his body. But he found that each time he tried to close his eyes, he could not find peace. His eyelids snapped back open, and he stared into the blackness of night, peering at the way the city lights streamed in from under the blinds. He slid a hand in between Roderich's legs and started to rub the Austrian's cock through his thin boxers. "G-Gilbert, what are you doing?" a quivering and slightly sleepy voice questioned.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Gilbert said casually. He scooted in closer and pressed his cock against Roderich's ass.

"I thought you said we didn't have any lubricant." It sounded as though Roderich was fighting to keep his voice even and calm.

Gilbert was already starting to get hard. Today, unlike yesterday, he found that he had no capacity for patience. "I went and bought some," he said firmly. "Roddy, baby, please. I, haa, I want you. I need you." He realized he sounded a little desperate, but he didn't care. He'd been waiting for this for much too long. He placed his lips against Roderich's neck and kissed it a few times, the fingers of his free hand wandering through chocolate-brown hair.

"Ah, you've earned it," Roderich said. "Besides, you're making me kind of hard."

With his lips still pressed against Roderich's neck, Gilbert laughed. "That was sort of the plan," he murmured. Having earned that singular token of permission, Gilbert pushed himself up against the mattress, curled his fingers around the waistband of Roderich's underpants, and started to pull them down his legs and away from his body. He wiggled out of his own underpants before bending to kiss the Austrian's lips a few times, slowly and softly at first. But from the way Roderich's tongue invaded Gilbert's mouth and the way it searched and probed until their tongues met and pressed against each other, Gilbert could tell they were both equally eager.

Their kisses grew rougher with each passing moment. Gilbert's lips moved to graze Roderich's jawbone and then continued down his neck and onto his chest, moving in a sequential line across his warm body. A shudder coursed down the Austrian's spine when lips met hips. There was no way Roderich could see the smirk that crossed Gilbert's face through the dark without his glasses. "You want it, don't you?" the albino said in a low voice.

"If I'm not mistaken, you are the one who is practically begging here." Roderich didn't sound sleepy anymore.

"Yeah, well maybe," Gilbert said casually. "But you can't deny you want it, too. Your hips don't lie, Roddy."

Roderich sighed. "Gil, are you quoting inane pop lyrics again? Now is not the time for it."

"Why not?"

"I'll show you why," Roderich said firmly. He placed both hands on Gilbert's shoulder and pushed him backward until their positions were reversed, leaving the Austrian on his knees with Gilbert pinned between his legs. Without any further notice, he lowered his face in between pale thighs, and he started to take the albino's erection into his mouth, wasting no time with licking or kissing. Now it was Gilbert's turn to shudder. That mouth was so warm and wet and familiar. He couldn't help but jerk his hips a little and bite his lip to keep from begging for more, faster, deeper. Instead of vocalizing what he wanted, Gilbert wound his fingers gently through chocolate-brown hair, willing Roderich to keep his mouth right where it was. The way Roderich's lips curved faintly upward, even with his mouth full – was that the ghost of a smirk?

Roderich took that simple action as a command, as if Gilbert had actually _asked_ for more. He wrapped his tongue around Gilbert's shaft and bobbed his head up and down to slide the other man's cock in and out of his mouth. Knees shaking slightly, the albino opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "yes, more, please," but the only sound that escaped his lips was a low moan, followed by a gasp of "R-Roddy."

Instead of teasing, Roderich simply took more of Gilbert down his throat and slid him faster in and out of his mouth. The albino's heart started to rattle frantically in his chest. He found himself gasping for air. Roderich succeeded in getting him painfully hard within minutes. Gilbert's grip on that chocolate-brown hair tightened at the exact moment his stomach did. He wrestled the insatiable need to thrust in and out of Roderich's mouth. It seemed that, even though many things had not remained the same since the accident and even since Roderich had regained his memory, one thing that had never changed was how obscenely _talented_ that mouth was, and how Gilbert could barely control himself when that mouth was around his cock.

Another shudder coursed like an electric shock down Gilbert's spine, and a choked whimper he couldn't hold back. He watched longingly as Roderich pulled back and licked his lips of a trace of precum. He bit his lip, torn between trying to force Roderich's mouth back down and pushing him over to just pound into him. Instead of doing either, he reached for the tube of lubricant he'd set out on top of the nightstand and squeezed some onto his fingers. Perhaps the Austrian had made him feel weak a moment ago, but now it was his turn. One hand gripped Roderich's hip while the other, slick with lubricant, reached down to rest briefly on his upper thigh before he slid his middle finger inside the brunette's entrance.

Nothing could have prepared Gilbert for the way Roderich reacted. The Austrian gave a surprisingly loud moan (even for him), threw back his head, and arched his back slightly the moment Gilbert's finger was inside him. "That…that didn't hurt, did it?" the albino said as crimson eyes widened even in the dark.

"No…mmh…just…keep going."

Gilbert hesitated for a moment before adding a second finger. This time, Roderich trembled a little and pressed back against Gilbert's fingers. The albino was tempted to rush things along. Hs body screamed for relief from the erection Roderich had helped along just moments ago, but he wanted to make sure his Austrian was prepared. After all, he hadn't had anything inside of him for three and a half months. Maybe _that_ was why he was reacting as though he hadn't been touched like this in a long time – because he hadn't. After pressing a third finger inside that hot body, Gilbert began to stroke Roderich's walls until the other man whimpered and rocked back and forth. Once he felt that body relax under his fingers, Gilbert knew it was finally time.

Before Roderich could make any sort of gesture of protest, Gilbert pulled back, pushed the other man down onto the mattress so they were facing each other, retrieved the tube of lubricant for the second time, and pushed inside him. "A-ahhh…." This time, the strangled gasp had come from Gilbert, and he had heard it as though it had come from someplace distant, perhaps downstairs. For a moment, all thoughts were wiped from his mind as he remained motionless inside of Roderich, his body quivering, his heart thrumming madly in his chest. Was this a dream? After all that time, after all that waiting…it couldn't be that they were finally here, in the bed they shared, facing each other with eagerness shining in their eyes, could it?

Once that moment of breathlessness dissipated, Gilbert started to roll his hips, finally feeling that glorious sensation of sliding in and out of the man he loved. Beneath him, Roderich shivered and sighed in the way one might have expected him to if he were being touched for the first time. And in some respects, it seemed that way. It was as though Gilbert had been jerked awake when Roderich had. It was as though they'd both stumbled out of a nightmare together so they could re-explore each other and re-learn what it meant to be together. Gilbert's hands roamed the Austrian's body as he thrust in and out, touching everywhere but his cock, reveling in the delicious heat he felt on every inch of flesh he sank his fingertips into.

The albino's self-control started to slip away, and as if his hips moved independently of his brain, he increased the speed with which he moved. One hand ran up and down Roderich's chest while the other clung to his hip. "Aren't you going to touch me?" Roderich gasped at last. Had Gilbert heard that phrase before? He couldn't remember. But somehow he felt that if he had, this time it felt more like more of a pleading request than a rough command. He obliged and worked his hand up and down the Austrian's cock in time with the pace of his thrusts, which sped up with each passing moment.

They sighed and moaned together as their bodies rocked back and forth. Usually, Gilbert wasn't nearly as vocal as Roderich, but somehow, he felt just as powerless to the sensations that jolted through him as the Austrian must have felt. "Mmh, you…you still feel so good…" Gilbert managed to say in between heavy breaths.

"Do I? That's good to kno-_aaah!_" Roderich's sentence was cut off when Gilbert found that spot inside him and pressed forcefully into it. Just a few swift thrusts later, Roderich screamed Gilbert's name and came. Only a fraction of a second had passed when Gilbert followed him into climax. They clung to each other as they rode out the last waves together. _That_ had never happened before. Gilbert usually had to push in and out a few extra times until he, too, could reach the blissful haze of orgasm.

When he at last pulled out, Gilbert pulled Roderich in close, kissing him softly everywhere but on his lips – on both cheeks, his forehead, his neck, even on both bare shoulders. He leaned back for a moment to get a good look at his Austrian. Purple eyes glimmered softly as the corners of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly in tired pleasure. Gilbert sighed happily as he leaned in and at last kissed Roderich on the mouth again, a satisfied smile of his own creeping onto his lips mid-kiss. How wonderful this moment was. It was worth slogging through months of sexual frustration, which he had tried in vain to extinguish with his hand and with Ivan.

_Ivan._

The name flickered across Gilbert's mind for only the briefest of moments, but those few seconds had been enough. Roderich had no idea what Gilbert had done in his absence. He had no idea that the body touching his had been held and penetrated by another. He had no idea that the lips that had kissed his had been forced against Ivan's –

A little whimper escaped Gilbert's throat. _Roderich doesn't know_, he reminded himself a second time. The Austrian, still nestled in Gilbert's arms, smiled in total ignorance, undoubtedly assuming the man whose wedding band matched his had been faithful in his absence. "Roderich…" Gilbert nearly whispered, unable to stop the single tear that slipped down his right cheek.

"Gilbert, is something wrong?" Roderich asked, voice full of concern. _I don't deserve your concern,_ Gilbert thought. Unable to look the Austrian in the eye for another moment, he flung himself down into his pillow and started to sob into it, unaware of the way his shoulders shook. "_Mein Gott_…Gil…" Roderich whispered. He placed a hand on the albino's exposed back.

"No! Just stop it, Roderich!" Gilbert managed in between sobs. "I – I can't…just…go away."

"Gilbert, you have _got_ to tell me what's wrong," Roderich said, more firmly this time. "If you don't, I can't help you."

Lifting his head briefly from the pillow he'd been sobbing into, Gilbert turned slick crimson eyes toward Roderich. He at least deserved to know, even if he'd be angry, even if he'd leave. "Okay…" he breathed as he wiped tears away from his face. But it was no use. Fresh tears soon replaced the old ones. "Roderich, while you were in the hospital…I…I sort of…" Once again, he found himself unable to meet Roderich's gaze. So he let his face fall into his hands instead. "I…" _Just get it over with._ "I slept with Ivan."

"You did _what_?" Roderich said, his voice suddenly turning harsh and cold and full of angry disbelief. "With…with _Ivan?" _Roderich's voice bit into the still indoor air even more, like the edge of a knife as it was being sharpened. His brow was furrowed. Some emotion that almost resembled fury replaced the sweet satisfaction that had once loomed in the depths of his amethyst eyes. The way his lips had been drawn into a thin, downward-curving line almost made him look as though he was ready to snarl at Gilbert.

That look. Gilbert couldn't handle it. His face once again retreated to the safety of the pillow. "I know, I know. It was stupid. I shouldn't have done it. I feel dirty. I feel awful. I'm so sorry, Roderich. I'm so sorry. Do you hate me now? If you do, I don't blame you, because I hate me, too." His words tumbled from his lips in a frenzy, muffled against the dampened pillowcase. He dug his fingertips into the sheets, as if he could claw those memories out of existence. If it was even possible, he sobbed even harder, so much that his breaths shortened and made him feel a little lightheaded.

"Gilbert." Roderich's voice had softened again. But this time, the albino could not find the willpower to look up at him. He clutched at the edge of the pillow and held onto it. "Gilbert, I…I don't hate you," Roderich said at last. He returned his hand to its place on Gilbert's back and rubbed comforting little circles into it.

Gilbert collected himself and forced himself to stop sobbing before he could reply. "You…you don't?" He still didn't want to see the look on Roderich's face. He didn't want to see even a shade of anger in the other man's expression.

"No, of course I don't," Roderich replied after a long moment of pause. "I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I…I understand." Still, Gilbert did not lift his face from the pillow. "Come on. Look at me."

"No."

Roderich slipped a hand under Gilbert's chin and lifted it gently from the pillow until he found himself looking with blurred vision into the Austrian's eyes. "Listen, Gilbert," Roderich began, firmly yet gently. "I can't hate you. That would be impossible. I…" He paused briefly, as if in thought. "I still love you, Gilbert. We're going to work through this, okay? You've gone through too much shit for me for us to just give up now. All right?"

All Gilbert could do was nod robotically, tears still running silently down his cheeks. Without the slightest word or gesture of permission from Roderich, he pushed himself up, scooted in close, and pressed his face into the other man's chest, still shaking a little. His heart knocked frantically against his chest from having sobbed so much he'd nearly been hyperventilating. "Gilbert, I…really, it's okay…" Roderich said somewhat weakly, fumbling with his words a little. But then, instead of saying anything else, he simply held the albino close for a long time in silence. Gilbert's arms wrapped automatically around Roderich. "Shh, Gil, shh…" Roderich murmured over and over again until the albino's shaking slowed at last, though his vision was still slightly blurred and his face tinted pink.

"Gilbert, would you like some tea?" Roderich asked suddenly. "It might help calm you down." Gilbert nodded weakly. "All right, then, I'll be right back." Roderich stepped into a pair of underpants and slipped out into the hallway, leaving the door barely open as he exited. When the Austrian had vanished from sight, Gilbert flopped back down onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. He still wondered how he could have betrayed Roderich's trust like that. More importantly, he wondered how Roderich had shifted so quickly from anger into acceptance. Was it only because Gilbert had been crying? How could Roderich possibly be _okay_ with this? As the albino lay still in bed, he waited for the moment when the Austrian would return, having finally lost his patience, and scream at him until his throat was raw…

The door creaked open. Roderich entered, carefully carrying two cups of tea. He held one out to Gilbert, who sat up and took it, being careful not to spill any of the steaming liquid. The Austrian settled down next to him, raised the cup to his lips, paused for a moment to test the temperature, and took a tentative sip. Gilbert watched him for a moment, trying to read his expression, but could not decipher the emotions behind those half-lidded eyes. He gave up and sipped his tea, feeling some of the tension of the previous moment ebb out of him. But none of the worries dissipated along with it. As he drained the last drops of tea from his cup, he peered sideways at Roderich, waiting for him to say something. When the Austrian set his cup on the nightstand beside the bed, Gilbert sighed and at last broke the silence: "Roderich, I'm so sorry…"

"I forgive you, Gilbert," Roderich interrupted before Gilbert could finish.

"You do?"

Roderich took one of Gilbert's hands and threaded their fingers together. "Yes, yes, I think I do," he said slowly as though he had to ponder every word before he spoke. He met scarlet eyes with violet and gazed into them earnestly.

At that moment, Gilbert felt the erratic thud of his heartbeat slow and even out. "Really?" he managed to say. "After doing something so…so…" He clamored for the right word, but could not think of one that accurately captured how he felt about the things he had done with Ivan late in the night with the taste of beer and hard liquor still looming on his lips. "…so _awful_?" he said at last.

Roderich settled down onto the mattress, and Gilbert followed suit, shifting until they were facing each other. With his free hand, the Austrian pulled the covers up around them. "Yes, sweetie, really," Roderich said sleepily after a long moment of silence.

For a moment, words eluded Gilbert like prey that darted away from its predator before it could be captured. _Sweetie?_ He turned the word over and over in his mind. He could probably count on one hand the number of times Roderich had used that nickname in the two years they'd been together. It was reserved for only the most tender of moments between them, when they were both in an especially pleasant and cooperative mood – or when Gilbert was extremely upset, as he apparently was now. He hummed lightly as he draped an arm lazily over Roderich's body. "You've been so nice to me lately," he murmured. He felt heavy with exhaustion.

"Have I?" Roderich said, in a tone of voice that was so casual and dismissive that it suggested he hadn't noticed. His eyelids had slid shut. "Well, you deserve it after all I've put you through. And besides, contrary to what my actions may often suggest, I hate seeing you upset." A moment of silence, filled only by the hum of the air conditioner from downstairs. "But don't worry, Gil. I'll nag you again in the morning."

Gilbert huffed and shoved Roderich in the arm. "Yeah? Then I'll pester you right back."

"Of course you will."

* * *

**As always, thanks for reading, and please review! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**I find myself once again apologizing for taking so long with this chapter. I was away over Thanksgiving break and did not have access to my laptop, and then when I got back, school has been insanely busy. So sorry for making you guys wait once again, and I hope it was worth it!**

* * *

"Gilbert, are you even listening to me?"

Roderich's voice drifted into Gilbert's ear as if from very far away. Crimson eyes were fixated on the scene just outside the bedroom window rather than on the Austrian who stood before him, lecturing him yet again. The pristine green of the leaves on the trees was slowly being consumed by plumes of red, yellow, and orange. Already, a few lone fallen leaves lay scattered about on sidewalks and smashed by car wheels in the middle of the street. Outside, the air was beginning to cool, enough to coax Gilbert's jackets out of hiding and into the front closet so he could wear them every evening when he went for a walk. A gentle yet chilling breeze ruffled the multicolored leaves. Gilbert thought about how time had passed since Roderich had awoken from his coma in May. It seemed like forever ago. Gilbert's eyes flicked to the watch on his wrist to check the digital date display. _September 26_. Feliciano and Ludwig's wedding was now just two days away, in the very same park where Gilbert had proposed to Roderich more than two years ago.

"_Gilbert_!" Roderich repeated sharply.

Blinking, Gilbert tore his eyes away from the window and allowed them to settle back on Roderich's face. "Sorry, what did you ask me again?"

Roderich folded his arms across his chest. He glared at Gilbert petulantly from under his glasses, amethyst eyes flashing indignantly. "You were not paying attention," he scolded. "You did not hear a single word I said, did you?" Gilbert shook his head apologetically, having zoned out amidst thoughts of how the days since Roderich had regained his memory had melted into weeks and then months in what seemed like the blink of an eye. "Had you been _listening to me_, you would have heard that I asked you if you picked up our suits on your way home like you said you would."

_Shit_. The suits. Gilbert had forgotten all about them as he'd driven home with the crisp autumn air flowing in through rolled-down windows and with late-afternoon sunshine reflecting off the hood of the car. "No, sorry, I forgot," Gilbert mumbled. He lowered his gaze to the floor as he prepared to be scolded or perhaps even yelled at.

"You forgot? How could you forget? I asked you to do _one thing_, and you forgot," the Austrian snapped, aiming an accusatory finger into Gilbert's face. "In case you were not aware, your brother is getting married in two days."

Gilbert should have expected nothing less. "Of course I'm fucking aware," he shot back.

"Well, then, are you planning to act as your brother's best man wearing jeans and a t-shirt? Somehow I don't think Ludwig would appreciate that very much."

"People forget shit all the time," Gilbert said. "It just happens. If you're so concerned about it, you could get in the car and go pick them up yourself, Mr. Lazy-pants."

The way Roderich's face darkened so instantly told Gilbert that he had just crossed some invisible line in the territory of the Austrian's patience. That look forbade of an argument in the same way dark gray clouds that billowed in the sky forbade of a storm. He had memorized that look so well in the time that he and Roderich had been together. But it had surfaced to that handsome face of his so abnormally rarely since he had regained his memory. Roderich had realized how deeply he had hurt Gilbert, and how deeply Gilbert blamed himself for his own actions. The Austrian had been so uncharacteristically sweet and gentle to Gilbert to compensate for the arguments and frustration that had passed between them since Roderich had awoken. The two had enjoyed three months of relative peace in their relationship, which had apparently come to an abrupt end. "Lazy?" Roderich echoed. "Who are you calling lazy? I have philharmonic rehearsals almost every day, and when I'm not rehearsing, I'm practicing on my own. Have you any idea how difficult it is to play an instrument again after having been in a coma for almost three months?"

"Don't remind me," Gilbert said in a voice that was much more soft and subdued than it had been a moment ago. He had spent _every day_ trying to forget how unbearably painful those months had been. For a moment, an expression that was almost - _almost_ - sympathetic crossed Roderich's face. But then, something cracked inside of Gilbert, and then words started to fall from his lips as though his brain had lost control of his mouth: "What, is my prissy little musician too good to do silly little chores? Just because I don't have a fancy job like you do, you get to make me run all the errands?"

Roderich froze. Silence enveloped the room. The air conditioner whirred in the distance and the wind howled through the branches of the trees outside. Then, those purple eyes grew a shade or two darker. "Are you suggesting I'm too good for you?" He wasn't shouting like he had been before. His voice had dropped into an abnormally low register that was as dark and quietly furious as his eyes. "Let me remind you of something else, Gilbert Beilschmidt. I chose you when I married you. You and no one else. I wonder why that is?" He raised a finger to his lips mockingly before continuing. "You made the same promise to me, did you not? Except I think you forgot all about that 'no one else' part, didn't you?"

"I…Roderich, I…"

The reality of Roderich's words invaded Gilbert's mind. Since the night Gilbert had broken down in tears when confessing he'd slept with Ivan, the two of them had ignored the matter. He'd wondered if Roderich had truly forgiven him, or if he was storing his anger inside him until it built up to the point of breaking. Finally, Gilbert had his answer. It was sickening and sudden, but it was an answer nonetheless.

"Yeah, well fuck you," Gilbert blurted. It was the only thing he could think to say.

"Ooh, don't threaten me with a good time," Roderich shot back. "Oh, wait, wouldn't that be a little difficult considering you were too busy fucking Ivan Braginsky?"

That was it. Whatever composure and restraint Gilbert had left cracked and finally snapped in half. "You don't understand!" he yelled, circling around the bedroom until he stopped about six inches away from Roderich, so close he could have kissed the other man if he'd wanted to. "I don't even know if you _tried_ to understand! I feel like I die inside every day knowing I did that to you! And yes, I'm fucking sorry about it. How many times do I have to _tell _you how fucking sorry I am for it to sink into that little brain of yours?" He paused to catch his breath. His head ached dully and his heart thudded erratically in his chest. "Or is it just too full of music to fit any emotions in there?" he added. His lips curved into a sneer as he grabbed a handful of Roderich's collar and used it to pull him in even closer yet. Crimson eyes met violet ones, staring them down relentlessly.

Roderich flattened both palms against Gilbert's chest and used them to shove the albino away. "Yes, you're sorry!" he yelled right back. "Everyone is fucking sorry for something. You can apologize a million times if you want to, but it won't change what you did! So don't even waste your breath. Nothing you can ever say or do will change the fact that you were fucking Braginsky while I couldn't even move! _Nothing!_ Do you hear me?" Gilbert nodded stiffly.

There was a pause. The Austrian's face softened a bit. "Wait a moment. I made a mistake…" His voice had returned almost to normal.

Gilbert's face lit up. He smiled tentatively. Roderich was going to apologize –

"My mistake was that, knowing you, Braginsky was probably fucking _you_, not the other way around."

Gilbert could have slapped Roderich across the face for that. He almost _wanted_ to. But he knew it would just make him feel worse a few hours later. Instead, he balled his hands into fists as the warmth dissipated from his expression. He was stunned into silence. All the words he should have said fled, leaving him stranded with nothing but cold and empty accusations. "Well…well maybe I should just leave, then!" he responded at last.

"Maybe you should!" Roderich yelled back.

"It's clear you don't even want me around."

Narrowed eyes seemed to burn holes right into Gilbert's soul. "Maybe I don't," the Austrian said coolly as he folded his arms across his chest. "I certainly don't want you around right now."

"All right. Fuck this," Gilbert said, managing to sound much less composed than Roderich did. "And to hell with you. I'm going to see someone who actually _appreciates_ me for once." He pushed open the door and started to step out into the hallway. But before he could, a thought crossed his mind. He halted and glanced over his shoulder at Roderich, who had not moved an inch from where he stood, glaring back at Gilbert as he left. "I still love you, you know that?" he said softly.

The Austrian's mouth fell open. But before he could say another word, Gilbert slammed the door, trudged down the hallway and down the stairs, and went out the front door without putting his coat on.

* * *

Gilbert got into his car and just started driving.

At first, he had no destination in mind other than to put distance between himself and Roderich, if only for a few hours. He didn't feel like walking. He felt too lonely whenever he walked those city streets with hundreds of people passing by whom he would never meet. So he drove instead, finding his way instinctually to the road that would lead to Ludwig and Feliciano's home. But then he realized they were both busy with wedding preparations – or perhaps pre-wedding sex. He sighed and steered his vehicle instead toward Antonio's apartment.

A knock at the door. A moment of silence. Gilbert held his breath. Then, he heard the sound of footsteps from within the apartment, and finally, the sound of the door unlocking. A familiar smiling face appeared in the doorway. "Hey Gil-"

Antonio's sunny expression faded as though clouds had suddenly swept in and blocked the sun from view. "Gilbert, you look…ah, are you all right?"

The German shook his head sullenly. "Roderich and I…we got into a big fight," he said quietly as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry I didn't call you first before I just showed up, but I needed to get away for a while. And I didn't want to bother Ludwig and Feli because…"

"That's all right," Antonio said warmly. He patted Gilbert on the shoulder. "I'm not busy! Come on in." He stepped aside and Gilbert made his way into the apartment. He flopped down onto the couch and slumped into it, resting his face in one hand. "Gil, can I get you anything?" the Spaniard asked. "Some beer?"

"That would be nice," Gilbert replied with a nod. He couldn't find the will to smile back at his friend. Antonio disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying two bottles of beer, one that he passed to Gilbert. Wordlessly, the albino accepted it and sipped absently. The familiar taste didn't comfort him as it usually did. All he could think of was getting drunk and coming home only to have Roderich scold him for smelling of alcohol. But he continued to drink, hoping that the alcohol might make him feel numb for a little while.

A weight dropped onto Gilbert's shoulder. He turned his head slowly to find Antonio's free hand resting on his shoulder again. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Gilbert sighed in the same way he'd sighed when walking to the hospital all those days, in which he'd prayed for a miracle in the time it took him to make his way from his car to the sliding doors. "I forgot to pick up our suits for Lud's wedding," Gilbert began. "And Roderich got mad at me. I shouldn't have gotten mad, too, but I did and that's just what happened. And then he brought up…" He paused to stare at his hands. He swirled the amber liquid inside his beer bottle, watching it slosh from side to side for a moment before he looked back into Antonio's bright green eyes. "He brought up me sleeping with Ivan. And I couldn't handle it. We just started screaming at each other and then I just kind of…left and started driving."

"Oh, Gil." Antonio frowned gently, eyebrows furrowing. He had never moved his hand from Gilbert's shoulder. It looked as though the sadness and guilt in the German's expression had seeped into Antonio's, draining the energy from his smile. "Maybe it's best you came here, then. It'll give you both some time to cool off."

"I guess so…" Gilbert said as he raised his bottle of beer to his lips and tilted his head back to sip the last few drops from it. He set the empty bottle on the table next to the couch and toyed with the zipper to his sweatshirt, flipping it back and forth just to have something to occupy himself. "But the last time we fought like this and went our separate ways for a while, Roderich got in the car and didn't come back for two months. And I felt so guilty because the last thing I said to him was something about not needing him…that I'd be just fine on my own…and I just…"

"Gilbert," Antonio said firmly. "That is not going to happen this time. You're going to stay here for a while, then you're going to go home, and the two of you are going to talk about it, and everything is going to be fine." He leaned in a little closer and met Gilbert's gaze with his own. Those carefree green eyes of his looked so serious. "Okay?"

"Okay," Gilbert muttered. He turned away and let his eyes wander, settling on nothing in particular.

Antonio grasped Gilbert's wrist lightly and tugged on it. Reluctantly, the German turned his head back to look at his friend again. "You don't sound convinced," the Spaniard said. "Listen to me, Gilbert. _Listen to me._ Everything will work out. You two have made it this far, haven't you?" Gilbert nodded slowly, his silvery hair barely moving as he did. "Good, then you can get through this."

Just as he had done when Roderich was still in the hospital, Gilbert gently pushed Antonio's hand away. Nothing his friend said had made him feel even a little bit better. Neither had the alcohol. Roderich was the only thing that could make him feel better. "_Can_ we really get through this, Tonio?"

"Of course you can. Don't you believe that?"

Gilbert just shook his head.

Without another word, Antonio got up, went back into the kitchen, and returned with a second beer for Gilbert. He accepted it and took a sip or two before he set it aside. For once, he didn't feel in the mood to drink any more. Antonio's eyes widened in surprise. "Look, Gilbert. I won't lie to you. Roderich is probably still upset over what happened between you and Ivan. He might even be a little jealous. But he might not have wanted to talk about it because he knew it would hurt you. I think the two of you need to sit down and just tell each other how you feel. About everything. And then you agree to move past it."

"You're right, Tonio," Gilbert said. "You're right. That's what I'll do. Thank you."

A pair of arms wrapped around Gilbert's body and pulled him in close. Gilbert leaned into the embrace and finally smiled a little. Antonio patted him on the back a few times. When they finally broke the hug, the albino leaned back against the couch and yawned, suddenly feeling tired. "Hey Tonio, can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can, _amigo_. You and Roderich will both feel better in the morning."

A few hours later, Gilbert curled up in Antonio's spare bed and closed his eyes in the hopes that tomorrow, he and Roderich would be able to forgive each other again. But he tossed and turned for hours, unable to find sleep because he no longer had Roderich to hold.

* * *

Late the next morning, Gilbert awoke to the sound of his ringtone. Without opening his eyes, he reached out and felt for his cell phone on the nightstand. "Hello?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Roderich's voice, soft and full of concern.

"What do you think, Princess?" This time, the nickname was used roughly, taking on a tone that was insulting rather than teasing.

Roderich sighed into the phone. "Gil, look, I'm sorry. Can you please come home now? Where are you? I was worried."

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Gilbert blinked and tried to shake the sleep away. "Oh, so you actually _want_ me around, do you?" he said. "Or are you just lying so you can make yourself feel better about all that shit you said to me?" He paused for a moment and remembered that Roderich had wanted to know where he was. "Oh yeah, I'm at Tonio's."

"Come home now, please?" Roderich pleaded. "We'll talk about it. I do want you around. I do. Come on, Gil."

"Fine." Gilbert hung up before Roderich could say anything else. He thanked Antonio for letting him spend the night, gave his friend a quick hug, climbed back into his car, and started to drive home – but not before stopping to pick up the suits on the way.

He hesitated at the door to their home. No sounds emanated from inside, not even the quiet lilt of piano or violin music. He paused with his hand on the doorknob and at last started to turn it in slow motion. The door creaked open. He stepped inside the house, his footfalls echoing on the wooden floor of the entryway. Figuring Roderich was probably in their bedroom, he made his way up the stairs, taking his time with each step.

Gilbert found Roderich lying on their bed, fully dressed and without a single hair out of place, gazing at the ceiling with unmoving purple eyes. But his head jerked up when Gilbert pushed open the door. He stood, brushed the wrinkles out of his clothing, and walked to meet Gilbert in the doorway. "Hello, Gil. I missed you," he said quietly, his voice barely stirring the still air.

"Oh, did you?" Gilbert said flatly in spite of how badly he wanted to be in Roderich's arms again.

"Why would I lie to you about something like that?" Roderich leaned in for a kiss. Gilbert turned his head to the side so that the Austrian's lips wound up pressed against his cheek. He pulled back, looking shocked, almost hurt. "Gilbert, I'm sorry. I really am. I…overreacted. And I never should have mentioned Ivan. And…I'm just sorry, okay?"

"Mmhmm," Gilbert muttered, looking into the distance rather than meeting Roderich's gaze with his own.

Roderich gently grasped the collar of Gilbert's shirt. "No, I really am," he said, smiling faintly. "Come on, Gil. I love you."

That smile, however tentative it was, and the intimate quality of Roderich's voice, were enough to make Gilbert's resolve start to crack. "I love you too," he replied, and leaned in until their lips barely touched, lingering for the briefest of moments before he pulled back again.

"But you're still mad at me," Roderich said. His smile evaporated.

"No, I'm not."

"Don't lie to me."

Gilbert sighed and bit his lip. "Yes, a little bit."

"Gil, I'll make it up to you." Now Roderich was smirking. "Don't you want to…" He tugged lightly on the collar of Gilbert's shirt. "…come to bed?"

"Mmm, that does sound tempting," Gilbert said with a little laugh.

"Then come on."

Gilbert reached behind him and shut the door, then let Roderich pull him down onto the bed with him.

* * *

When Roderich finally pulled out of Gilbert, they collapsed together onto the mattress, facing each other, breathless and sweetly spent. They looked into each other's tired eyes, and they both laughed in blissful relief as they emerged from the haze of orgasm. Roderich took Gilbert's face in both his hands, pulled it in close, and kissed him softly a few times. There was a moment of aching silence. "But I really am sorry, Gilbert," the Austrian said at last. "Please forgive me…_please_…" Purple eyes were just as pleading as his voice.

There was something so startling and beautifully painful about how guilty Roderich looked, about how quickly he'd shifted from tired pleasure into quiet concern and sorrow. "Of course I forgive you," Gilbert said, finding Roderich's hand and lacing their fingers together. "But you're not the one who should be asking for forgiveness."

"Oh, Gilbert." Roderich gave the albino's hand a squeeze. "There was one thing I said yesterday that I did really mean. Things happened, and there's nothing we can do about them anymore. We can't change the past. I guess I'm just a little bit selfish, aren't I?" The smile returned to his face. He leaned in close, placed his lips next to Gilbert's ear, and whispered, "I just want you all to myself. That's selfish, isn't it?"

"Maybe so," Gilbert said. "But if it is, then I'm selfish too. I know I'd feel awful if I found out you were sleeping with…I don't know, Antonio, or that nurse Elizaveta, or…"

Roderich giggled – a sound Gilbert wished to hear so much more often than he did. If there were some sort of magical spell or formula he could use to make Roderich laugh, he'd hear his Austrian laugh all day, and just close his eyes and drink in that sweet sound – "Antonio? Elizaveta? Why them?"

"Geez, Roddy, it was just an example. The names aren't important. Point is, I'd feel the same way if I found out you'd been sleeping with anyone else but me." Gilbert paused for a moment to push sweaty chocolate-brown hair away from Roderich's forehead. "Oh, by the way, I picked up the suits."

"Took you long enough," Roderich said good-naturedly. "Wait…the suits…their rehearsal is today! Gil, we should get ready! We…"

Gilbert silenced Roderich with a kiss. "Keep your pants on, Little Master," he teased. "That's not til three. It's only noon now. We've got time."

Roderich let go of Gilbert's hand in favor of reaching up and flicking his nose. "I'm not _wearing_ any pants right now, idiot. If you don't recall, you were the one who took them off."

"Ooh, look who doesn't get the joke," Gilbert shot back.

"But anyway, I suppose you are right. There's no rush," Roderich said coolly.

Gilbert gasped dramatically. "_Mein Gott,_ Roderich, you just said I was right about something!"

"Just this once. Don't get used to it."

* * *

The rehearsal went smoothly without any major problems or complaints, with the exception of the occasional sarcastic remark from Lovino, which Francis sometimes had to counter with a joke or two. Afterwards, the entire group, including Ludwig and Feliciano's relatives, crammed into the pair's home so that Feliciano's mother, aunts, and grandmother could cook everyone a big, traditional Italian meal. There was barely room to move once the plethora of Italians made their way into the house – and for the same reason, there was barely room to think. Long strings of words spoken in loud, energetic Italian buzzed in the air. Ludwig had tried to book reservations at a restaurant, but Feliciano's mother would have none of it, and insisted upon making the dinner herself.

Roderich and Gilbert sat at a jammed table between Ludwig and Francis as they finished their meals. Roderich had been unusually quiet and a little pale-looking throughout dinner, but Gilbert had said nothing about it, figuring he might be getting a mild headache. The Austrian enjoyed the peace and quiet, preferring to spend time alone with Gilbert or with his piano rather than in a room full of people.

Once both of their plates were nearly clean, Roderich tugged on Gilbert's sleeve, leaned in close, and said quietly, "Gil, I hate to do this since it's your brother, but can we go home? I'm not feeling very well."

"Of course we can," Gilbert said with a soft smile. "I'm going to say good-bye to Ludwig. Why don't you get our jackets, and I'll meet you at the door?"

Roderich nodded and stood somewhat shakily. Gilbert placed a hand on his brother's shoulder to bid him farewell when he heard a dull _thud_ from behind him.

Every head in the room turned. Every pair of eyes widened and stared.

Gilbert turned slowly to look behind him, almost horrified at what he might find. His worst fears were confirmed when he found Roderich passed out cold on the carpeted floor of the adjacent room.

* * *

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**

**Oh, sorry I "skipped" the smut this time, but I think you got enough of that during the previous two chapters, and besides, it wasn't really as much of a plot point in this chapter as it was in the others.**


	14. Chapter 14

For a long moment, Gilbert was frozen to the spot. He could neither speak nor move. A thousand horrified thoughts darted through his mind like a swarm of angry bees. "R-Roderich…" he finally managed to say at a choked whisper. He rushed to Roderich's side, dropped to his knees beside the unmoving body, and took one of the Austrian's limp hands in his own, gripping it too tightly. It was a sickening case of déjà vu. Gilbert tried to push aside memories of white walls and white sheets and the mocking drone of the heart monitor – and, along with them, the feeling of emptiness that accompanied the absence of a loved one.

"Roderich, please, you've got to wake up," Gilbert pleaded.

The first thought that crossed his mind was: _What if he never does wake up? _

The second: _What if he wakes up but doesn't remember me? _

But above all else: _Roderich, I can't lose you again. I'd fall apart. _

"Roderich! Roderich! Come on! Wake up!" Gilbert screamed as he shook the Austrian's shoulders.

"Gilbert! Calm down!" Ludwig's voice, firm yet understanding, silenced the chaotic buzz of those thoughts in his mind. Gilbert glanced up at his brother with panic shining in his crimson eyes. It was then that he noticed that nearly everyone who'd been seated around the dinner table had gotten to their feet, gathered around the two of them, and strained to see what was going on. "Everyone, _back off!_" the younger German shouted, sounding like a military officer. "Give us some _verdammt_ space!" The crowd dissipated in an instant.

"Francis!" Ludwig barked. "Go and get a cool cloth to put on his forehead!" The Frenchman nodded stiffly and hurried away. "Antonio! Call the hospital!" The Spaniard jumped to attention, whipped his phone out of his pocket, and began punching numbers. "Gilbert, you…just stay with him."

The albino could only swallow hard and squeeze Roderich's hand as he silently prayed for another miracle. "Baby, you've got to stay with me," he whispered. "You can't just leave me alone again. You just fucking can't. I don't know what I'd do with myself. You…can't…"

Roderich's eyebrow twitched. He opened his eyes laboriously, blinked, and studied his surroundings in slow motion.

Gilbert held his breath. It seemed as though, for a few seconds, the earth stopped turning.

"Gil, where am I?" Roderich asked, his voice weak and exhausted. "What's going on?"

The earth started turning again.

Gilbert exhaled shakily and forced himself to smile down at Roderich. "We're at Ludwig and Feliciano's rehearsal dinner," he said softly. "You kind of…passed out on us."

"Oh…did I?" Roderich said faintly. Before he could add anything else, Gilbert leaned down to press a kiss to the Austrian's forehead. Roderich squeezed his eyes shut and moaned a little. "Ah…my head…it hurts…"

"I'm sorry." Gilbert tried not to look disappointed or worried. Roderich tried to sit up, but only made it about halfway before Gilbert placed a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down. "Stay still. We'll get you to a doctor."

The Austrian started to nod weakly, but then he winced and bit his lower lip softly. Gilbert could only imagine the jolt of pain that burned through his forehead. "Gil…the suits…" Roderich mumbled. "The…I'll pick them up…I'll pick up the suits. I'm s-sorry I yelled at you…I'll pick up…I'll pick…"

"Roderich, ssh." Gilbert silenced Roderich with the gentlest kiss on the lips he was capable of. "Stay still. Don't talk. Don't move. You'll be all right. And don't worry, I got the suits." Gilbert watched as Roderich's lips twisted into a feeble smile, purple eyes half-lidded and gazing distractedly around the room, never focusing for too long on one thing.

Francis rushed into the room carrying a dripping washcloth, which he bent to place carefully on Roderich's forehead. The Austrian shifted, gave a soft, breathy moan, and mumbled something indistinct in German, letting his eyes flicker shut for a moment. When he opened his eyes once more, his eyebrows twitched in pain, and he scrunched his face up, trying not to glance directly into the ceiling light overhead. His grip tightened on Gilbert's hand, so much that it was almost painful. Gilbert wanted so badly to pick Roderich up and hold him close in his arms, but he knew it would be best not to move him. So instead, he leaned in close and whispered soothingly, "It'll be okay, Roderich. Everything will be okay." He repeated the words over and over again until they became a hushed chant, barely audible as Ludwig and Feliciano's friends and family shuffled about nervously and tried to focus on cleaning up after dinner.

The sound of sirens in the distance knifed through the flurry of muffled conversations in German and Italian. Everyone froze in place. For a moment, no sound disturbed the home except for that high-pitched wail, growing louder and more incessant by the second. Roderich perked up instantly. "Wait…what…why…" he mumbled. A moment of pause. He looked as though he was lost in deep thought. "No! No!" the Austrian screamed. "I don't want to go! I don't want to go back there! You can't make me!" He grabbed at Gilbert's arm and tried to use it to haul himself into a sitting position. Purple eyes flashed with something like horror.

It took almost no effort to ease Roderich back down to the carpeted floor (thank goodness he hadn't passed out in the dining room, where the floors were tiled). "Roderich, you _have_ to," Gilbert said, gently but insistently. "I need to know that you'll be okay. Now stay still."

"But Gilbert…" His voice was softer now, hoarse and pleading. "I spent two months there wasting away. You won't let them take me back there…" Roderich tugged gently on Gilbert's hand. "…will you?"

Those purple eyes, so wide and terrified, made Gilbert want to give in, scoop Roderich up into his arms, carry him to their car, and just take him home. But what if there really was something wrong with him? Gilbert wouldn't risk it. "You're not going to stay there for two months this time," he said. "I promise. You might only be there for a few hours. Come on. I'll go with you. I'll be with you the whole time. All right?"

"All right," Roderich conceded. "All right." But Gilbert could almost hear Roderich's heart rate speed up as he leaned protectively over the man he loved.

Roderich didn't struggle when the EMTs secured him onto the stretcher, but Gilbert could see the way he was trembling ever so slightly, and he could swear a pang of pain had shot through his own heart at the sight. The albino jogged after them as they made their way outside to the parked ambulance, Ludwig only a few steps behind him. Gilbert started to climb into the vehicle after Roderich, but one of the two men held his hand up and blocked his way. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't do that. Only immediate family would be allowed to go along."

"Gilbert, no!" Roderich yelled as he tried to sit upright. He reached out and grabbed at the thin air, trying to stretch his arm toward the albino. "You said you'd go with me! You said you'd be with me the whole time!" The other EMT tried to coax him to lay down, but he slapped the man's hand away petulantly.

"I'm his _husband, _for fuck's sake!" Gilbert shot back without thinking. "We're _married._ See?" He held up his right hand and pointed to the silver wedding band on his ring finger.

"Sir…" the man began in protest, his tone vaguely irritated, as though he couldn't believe that two men could be married.

"You listen here!" Ludwig barked from just behind him. "You better believe him when he says they're married. And you better let him go with you. Or else you'll have to deal with one panicked Austrian, one worried-sick German, and one incredibly pissed off German." His lips twisted into something that could almost be called a dark, sickening sneer. "Three guesses which one I'd be."

The man held his hands up defensively. "All right, all right. Fine then, sir. Get in."

Gilbert climbed into the ambulance and knelt next to Roderich, who winced as another EMT held up a needle and prepared to slide it into his arm. The vehicle jolted slightly as it pulled away from the curb and started down the street. "Roderich, look at _me. _Don't look at it." He gripped the Austrian's hand again and squeezed it in the hopes of distracting him.

Roderich nodded stiffly and struggled to focus his gaze upon Gilbert's face. He gasped as the needle pressed into his skin and shut his eyes tightly for a moment. Gilbert watched the EMT with interest and concern. He bit back an overwhelming desire to tell him to be gentle and careful. "I promise, Roderich, it's going to be okay," he repeated for about the millionth time. "Isn't it?" He glanced at the man to his right and chewed his lip. It was then that he became aware of the way his own hands were trembling. He didn't want Roderich to worry, so he stuffed both hands into his pockets.

"Most likely," the EMT said. "But I can't say for sure until we arrive and they run some tests."

The ride to the hospital took only a few minutes by car – and it was a familiar, well-traveled route to Gilbert – but today, it seemed like it took an hour. Each piercing wail of the siren seemed to rattle Gilbert's heart, serving as a constant reminder of his fear. What would they tell him when they arrived? He contemplated all the worst scenarios. Though he had very little medical knowledge, somehow he managed to imagine everything that could have gone wrong, every cause, every condition whose very name could chill even the most fearless of people. Heart attack? Brain damage – or worse, a brain tumor? Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back for Roderich's sake.

When they arrived, doctors scrambled in to sweep Roderich away to another room. They promised Gilbert he'd be able to come in and see his husband shortly, but their words did little to soothe the maddening thrumming of his heart in his chest, or the unyielding fear that Roderich would somehow slip back into a coma. Then he'd have to feel that heartbreak all over again.

The most absurd and impossible concerns floated around in Gilbert's head. A black smog of worries, as persistent and impenetrable as the haze that clung to the world's largest cities, kept all other thoughts from entering his mind. He paced back and forth, just as he had last time. "Roderich…" he thought out loud, his voice soft and cracking.

"Big brother."

Ludwig's voice was so much quieter and calmer than it had been earlier. Gilbert spun around to see his brother standing just behind him, his serious expression interrupted with a gentle smile. "Oh, h-hey, Lud," Gilbert replied. He couldn't control the way his voice quivered slightly. He felt as though his feet had been cemented to the floor.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around him and held him tightly. For a moment, the two of them were silent. His brother's embrace, as powerful as he was yet still somehow comforting, held so many memories. He'd felt it in high school when he'd asked a boy out for the first time – and, two seconds later, was turned down for the first time. He'd felt it a few months later when college after college sent him rejection letters, and again when a blessed acceptance letter or two showed up in his mailbox. And he'd felt it yet again two years after that, when his parents had screamed at him after he'd announced that college really wasn't for him.

Finally, he'd felt it the first time Roderich had wound up in the hospital.

Everything felt like a sickly repeat of late February, when the air was icy and unforgiving rather than balmy with just the perfect touch of breezy chill. There was no way Roderich _wouldn't_ come back to him this time, right? The coldness had melted from his life as it had melted away from the weather. So there was no way the world could take that warmth from him again – the warmth only Roderich could fully provide – was there?

Gilbert realized he'd been holding onto Ludwig for quite a while. He relinquished his grasp on his brother and stepped back to glance at him nervously. "How is he doing?" Ludwig asked.

"He's…okay," Gilbert breathed. "Or maybe not. I don't really know. They said they'd let me come in and see him in a little while." He paused. The distant sounds of chaos and of nurses and doctors shuffling from room to room filled the emptiness. "Lud, I'm…"

"Scared." The younger brother spoke the words Gilbert couldn't make himself say. Gilbert did not respond. He didn't nod. But they both knew it was true. Ludwig gave the older brother a few firm pats on the shoulder and smiled weakly at him, traces of concern evident in his expression. "It'll be all right this time, Gil. He's awake. You saw it yourself. He's going to be just fine."

"Where's Feli?" Gilbert said.

"Oh, I had Lovino take him home. He got pretty worked up the…last time, and I didn't want him doing that again. Especially not considering tomorrow…"

"Shit, Lud! You're supposed to be getting married tomorrow!" Gilbert let out a long sigh as his shoulders drooped. "I'm sorry all of this had to happen today."

Ludwig shrugged absently. "There was nothing any of us could do about it. It's not like you _wanted_ this to happen."

The two brothers sat in silence for a little over an hour, but to Gilbert, it felt like an eternity. His eyes moved from his watch to Ludwig to the hospital walls, where he lost himself staring into nothingness, and then back to his watch to repeat the process. He was glad Ludwig didn't try to say anything else to him. There was nothing else to say. Nothing would make him feel better except seeing Roderich's purple eyes, bright and dancing with energy and familiar recognition, glancing back at him.

"You can go in and see him now."

The voice almost startled Gilbert. He looked up and blinked steadily at the doctor, dazed as if he'd been jerked awake from a nightmare – and maybe he _had_ been. But he remained seated, making no motion to get up. The last time he'd been told he could go in and see Roderich, he'd ignored Bella's attempts to tell him his husband was in a coma, instead sprinting into the room only to find his Austrian motionless and unresponsive.

"And?" Gilbert asked feebly.

"And what?"

"Is he…" Gilbert hesitated for a moment. "…okay?"

The unfamiliar doctor gave him a warm smile. "He's just fine," he said.

Gilbert breathed a shaky sigh of relief, stood, and followed the doctor, with Ludwig a few steps behind. He found Roderich propped against a few pillows, eyes half-lidded and rimmed in dark circles. Those eyelids shot open when Gilbert entered. The Austrian turned his head slightly to the side to gaze up at the albino with a tired smile. Gilbert pressed a kiss to Roderich's cheek. "How are you feeling, hmm? Better, I hope?"

Roderich cleared his throat before speaking. "Yes, better. Tired, but much better."

"Good." Gilbert wrapped his arms around Roderich's waist from behind and held onto him a little too tightly, as though he expected Roderich to slip right back into a coma if he let go. "Don't scare me like that, ever, _ever_ again."

The nurse, who still hovered in the corner, giggled a little. "Oh, what a sweet, concerned husband you have, dear!"

Roderich snorted. "_Sweet_," he repeated, raising both eyebrows. Gilbert couldn't tell if he was condescending, or simply thinking. "I suppose he can be sweet at times."

"So, can I take him home now?" Gilbert asked the nurse.

She and the doctor exchanged glances. He gave her a little nod. "Yes, I suppose that would be all right." She turned to Roderich. "But I want you to stay in bed and rest for the rest of the day and tomorrow, okay? Just to make sure you're okay."

"That's fi – The wedding! I can't stay in bed tomorrow! My brother-in-law is marrying a friend of mine tomorrow! I can't!" Roderich cried, grabbing Gilbert's arm in a panic.

"Gilbert, I understand," Ludwig said evenly. Roderich's eyes flicked backwards to settle on the German's face. "Your health is important. If you need to stay in bed and rest, you should."

"But Feli will be upset, won't he?"

Ludwig shrugged absently. "Maybe, but he'll understand. I'm sure he'll want you to take care of yourself, too."

The nurse made her way over to the three of them. "How about this?" she suggested. "Rest up for the rest of the day, Roderich. If you feel well in the morning, you can go, but I don't want you standing for long periods of time or doing anything very physical, all right?"

The three men offered their agreement. Roderich stood shakily to go home with Gilbert, linking arms with him for support. The doctor motioned for Gilbert to stay behind. Reluctantly, he let go of the Austrian, who clung to Ludwig's arm instead, gazing up apologetically at the taller German. "So, is there…" Gilbert almost didn't want to ask. But he _had_ to know. He sighed and drew in a deep breath before continuing nervously, "…is there something wrong with him?"

The man gave Gilbert a sympathetic smile. "I doubt it," he said. "This seems as though it's an isolated incident. It happens sometimes. Perhaps it was stress-related. But it isn't likely to happen again. If it does, bring him back, of course, and we'll do some more extensive testing."

Gilbert nodded, but still could not shake the nagging fear in the back of his mind. "It couldn't be…because of the coma, could it?"

"It's possible he could have sustained some sort of brain trauma, but unlikely. If that were the case, I'm almost certain we would have seen other symptoms by now. I wouldn't worry unless this happens again."

_I wouldn't worry. _Gilbert almost wanted to laugh, that was such an ironic statement. How was it possible for him to stop worrying, when every day of his life since the accident had been filled with nothing but worry? But there was nothing else he could say or do at this point. "All right, thank you," he said wearily.

"Make sure he gets plenty of water and rest, okay?"

Gilbert gave the doctor his word and walked to meet Ludwig and Roderich.

Ludwig climbed into the driver's seat of his car to drive Gilbert and Roderich home before returning to Feliciano. On the way there, Roderich wrapped both arms around Gilbert's waist, rested his head on the albino's shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. He had to be nudged awake when they arrived home at last.

Gilbert insisted upon helping Roderich up the stairs and into bed – it took lots of coaxing on Roderich's part to encourage Gilbert not to pick his husband up and carry him to the second floor. Once the Austrian had gotten settled, Gilbert bent to give him another kiss on the cheek. "Roderich, do you need anything? Something to drink? Something to eat? Do you have a headache again? Do I need to bring you any medicine? What do you need, _liebe_? Even if I need to go out and get you something…"

"Gil." Roderich's voice was tired, but insistent. Eyelids drooping with sleep already, he pawed at the air for a moment before his hand found Gilbert's shoulder. "I'm fine. Stop worrying."

"Easier said than done," the albino admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Here's what I need." Gilbert nodded eagerly, hoping to help Roderich in whatever way he could. "I need to sleep, hmm?"

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry," Gilbert said with an apologetic chuckle. "I should let you get some rest, _liebe. _I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

"You don't have to," Roderich said.

"I insist. Try and stop me."

"Okay." The Austrian gave him a weak smile. Gilbert sat down next to him and took his hand once again, running his thumb over the back of it and tracing gentle, comforting circles over it. Roderich's eyelids slid closed, then flickered open again. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "I love you," he mumbled softly, his voice a little hoarse.

At last, Gilbert could give Roderich a genuine smile in return. For now, the Austrian seemed as though he was doing just fine. "I love you, too," he replied. He ran his free hand through the chocolate brown hair that was usually so tidy and well maintained, but was now mussed and sticking up in a few random places.

It only took a few minutes for Roderich to give into the heaviness of sleep. The way his chest rose and fell so rhythmically comforted Gilbert a little. Reluctantly, he let go of his husband's hand and stood to leave. But he couldn't resist leaning down to give Roderich a gentle kiss on the lips. "I really do love you so much," he whispered, "even if I don't always act like it. You have to get better for me, okay? You have to stay with me."

* * *

**I apologize if this chapter isn't up to par with the others, and that it took so long.**

**Also – change of plans! I said there'd be 16 or 17 chapters. Well, there will only be 15, so the next chapter will be the last.**

**Finally, if anyone's interested, I'm going to make a playlist of songs I listened to while writing this fic/that remind me of this fic, and share it on Tumblr. I tag everything I post that relates to this fic with #rememberthemusic and #remember the music, with or without spaces. **

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, the icy kiss of a brisk autumn morning nudged Gilbert awake. The silence in their home was aching. Not even the hum of the air conditioner stirred the stillness, as it had been switched off in favor of the heating system. Gilbert's fingers and toes were frigid. But soft puffs of hot air against his chest kept his core warm. Crimson eyes tilted downwards to find Roderich still nestled in his arms facing him, face pressed to the albino's chest, his breath warm and steady and heavy in perfect, undisturbed sleep. It was rare that Gilbert and Roderich managed to stay in each other's arms until morning. Most often, Gilbert would end up stealing all the covers in his sleep, or Roderich would end up whacking the albino (supposedly) by accident with his arm or giving him a light kick or two. But perhaps the Austrian had simply been too exhausted for that, and Gilbert too worried.

"Roddy, it's time for us to get up now," Gilbert said gently. He always hated to wake Roderich – he looked so peaceful and adorable when he slept. But the thick, choking, all-encompassing smog cloud of concerns and fears that had enveloped him yesterday had not yet been dispelled. Instead, it still loomed over Gilbert's head, invading every corner of his thoughts.

Roderich blinked a few times before opening his eyes fully. "Morning, Gil," he said, with just a phantom trace of warmth present in his voice.

"Morning, Roderich." Gilbert leaned in for a brief, close-lipped kiss. Both men's eyes shuttered closed for a moment. When they had broken the kiss, Gilbert asked, "How are you feeling today?"

"I feel…good, actually," Roderich replied. "Not quite awake yet, but some coffee should fix that."

Gilbert chuckled softly. "You did sleep for almost twelve hours, you know." He kissed Roderich once on each cheek. "You must have needed it."

A rare soft smile graced Roderich's face. He almost never grinned broadly in the way Gilbert did. It just wasn't him. Gilbert could recall seeing a wide grin cross his face only once – on their wedding day, just seconds after they had finished saying their "I do's" and kissed at last. Just the thought that Gilbert alone had inspired such a grin was enough to make him smile to match the memory of that image. "Now let's go to your brother's wedding," Roderich said.

* * *

A few hours later, Gilbert and Roderich took their places next to Ludwig, and watched as he and Feliciano exchanged the same vows they had just over a year ago. Roderich sat in a chair to Gilbert's right and glanced abashedly up at the albino, who stood instead. "_It's all right,_" Gilbert mouthed, taking a moment to lock eyes with the Austrian and give him an encouraging smile. Then, he glancing back at his brother – his strong, fearless brother who today looked so humbled to be standing with Feliciano's hands in his with their friends and family hanging eagerly on every word, waiting for the moment when they'd kiss and officially seal their future together.

When that moment finally came, Gilbert felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. He glanced down and to his right to find Roderich smiling up at him from his chair. There was a beautifully faraway look in those amethyst eyes, as though the Austrian was lost in remembering when they had spoken those words to each other. _He's remembering, _Gilbert thought. _Remembering._ Such a simple act. Such a simple process. Such a simple part of life in general, and so easily taken for granted. But now that Roderich had been without memory for a month after he was released from the hospital, it was something Gilbert would never again take for granted. That the two of them could wake each morning, call each other's names, and know they were married without glancing at their wedding bands was almost like a miracle. Gilbert wanted to take Roderich's hand in his. But he'd have to bend down uncomfortably to do so while Roderich was seated, so he settled for resting a hand on the Austrian's shoulder instead.

Once Ludwig and Feliciano broke the kiss, the younger German brother turned uncharacteristically warm blue eyes toward Gilbert and Roderich to give the pair a knowing smile. Even though today was about Ludwig and Feliciano, it was also, in some small way, about Gilbert and Roderich, too. It was about the accident, about how Roderich had clawed his way to recovery from it, about the cracks that had formed in the pair's relationship, and about how they'd tried – and perhaps finally succeeded – to repair those cracks before it could shatter altogether like the glass of a windowpane that had had one too many rocks thrown at it.

Feliciano's mother was tearing up. Even Lovino, who never tried to hide the fact that he wasn't exactly Ludwig's biggest fan, wore a pleasant smile. For once, everything was as it should be.

At least for now.

Not an hour later, Gilbert stood to give the requisite speech just before dinner. Of course, he had to say something about what a great man Ludwig was and how both he and Feliciano deserved this, but he'd planned to pepper the speech with plenty of jokes and stupid stories from their childhood. But when he got to his first joke, images flashed through his mind – images of his brother holding him so many times when his heart had ached for Roderich. Yesterday's incident was so sharply and almost nauseatingly clear in his memory: Ludwig's arms around him as he agonized over the fate of the husband he had just regained. Gilbert found himself getting choked up in a way that was so sudden and expected that even he couldn't have seen it coming.

"L-Ludwig's always been there for me…" he found himself saying instead. A tear or two trailed down his cheeks. "This year has been really rough for me, as many of you know. But Ludwig was always there to help. Even if he had work. Even if he was busy. Even if he was tired. H-he just deserves this so much. And so does Feliciano. They both do. They deserve each other."

It was then that he became dimly aware of the way his voice was quivering, of how slick and cool his cheeks felt. "I'm s-sorry. But, ah…yeah." He wiped at his face and hurried away to return to his seat between Roderich and Ludwig.

The younger German brother gave Gilbert a few gentle pats on the shoulder. "Oh, Gil."

"You big sap," Roderich teased.

"Oh, shut it, Priss," Gilbert shot back. "You're not made of stone, are you?" He reached out and poked Roderich's arm. "Ow! That hurt!"

"Ew, he's touching me," Roderich said. "Ludwig, make him stop touching me."

"You _want _me to touch you. Except…not on the _arm." _

"_Gilbert!" _

Ludwig chuckled. "Looks like they're back to normal," he said to no one in particular.

"_Is _there such thing as 'normal' when it comes to those two?" Lovino countered good-naturedly. And Ludwig _laughed_. Ludwig laughed at a joke that Lovino, of all people, had made. The only way today could be more perfect was if Roderich had not passed out yesterday. Then, Gilbert would not have had to worry so much.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Gilbert sat dutifully by Roderich while many others got up to dance. He knew it wasn't a good idea for the Austrian to be standing for such a long period of time, not until they were sure he'd be all right. But then, a few minutes after Feliciano and Ludwig had paused the music so they could feed each other small squares of cake, a familiar song lilted through the speakers. Roderich stood, grabbed Gilbert's hand, and tugged at it insistently. "Come on, let's dance," he urged.

"I don't want you to pass out on me again."

"But Gilbert…" Roderich tilted his head slightly to the side and shot the albino a teasing smile, "…don't you remember the music?"

Gilbert had said those very words to Roderich twice: once while the Austrian was in the coma, and once while Gilbert was doing all he could to make his husband remember him. But now, those words didn't seem so desperate or so painful anymore. "Of course I do," he replied. "It's the song _we_ danced to at _our_ wedding."

"Then come on." Roderich tugged at Gilbert's hand again. "We _have_ to dance to it. It's our song. Just one dance won't kill me, idiot."

"Oh, all right." Gilbert let Roderich tug him along. They threaded their way through throngs of people until they found a spot just a few feet away from Feliciano and Ludwig, who seemed completely absorbed in each other. Roderich draped his arms around Gilbert's neck, while Gilbert's arms wound themselves around the Austrian's waist. The albino leaned down to rest their foreheads together as they started to sway back in forth in time with the music.

They said nothing to each other. They didn't need to. It almost felt as though it was their wedding all over again. As the two had begun to repair their relationship in the aftermath of the accident, it seemed as though they had seen each other anew. The accident had reminded them to appreciate each other, to want each other, to need each other. Gilbert gently tilted Roderich's chin upwards so they were looking each other in the eye. Then, after a tender moment of pause, he leaned in for a kiss. Gilbert's eyelids slid shut all on their own as he pressed against the Austrian's lips with his tongue, encouraging him to part them. When he did, their tongues met and made light contact. Gilbert could still taste the sweetness of the cake and frosting they had eaten earlier. He broke the kiss reluctantly and continued to hold Roderich close. The two barely moved, content to just be together with the music they both knew so well playing in the background.

Ludwig glanced over at Gilbert. They met eyes from over their husbands' shoulders. The younger German just smiled knowingly.

After the song ended, the two retreated to their table to rest again. Roderich drained the rest of the wine from his glass and then rested his head in his hands. He still looked tired, though not nearly as pale as he'd been yesterday. They sat for a few minutes before Antonio wandered over, placed both hands on the table, and said in a slightly slurred voice, "Wish me luck, _amigos._"

"What are you going to do?" Gilbert asked.

"Just…wish me luck!" the Spaniard insisted.

Gilbert rolled his eyes a little, but gave in. "All right. Good luck."

He and Roderich watched as Antonio went over to the table at which Lovino was seated, arms folded over his chest as he stared petulantly at nothing in particular. Antonio leaned in over the table and said something to the Italian, who paused as if thinking for a moment. _He must be asking Lovino to dance,_ Gilbert realized silently.

Lovino shook his head.

Antonio, looking defeated, slunk back to his table and absently swirled his wine around in his glass. He stared into the red liquid rather than out at those around him. Then, he lifted the glass slowly to his lips, pausing to sigh before sipping. Gilbert was just about to get up and comfort his friend, but Francis arrived first. He stretched a hand out toward the Spaniard. "Want to dance, Antonio?"

"Why not?" Antonio took Francis' hand with a tentative smile and followed him out to the dance floor.

Gilbert watched the two of them and thought they actually looked cute together. Even if they didn't end up dating, they would at least be able to spend a few hours enjoying each other's company.

Then, he realized those few hours they'd spend enjoying each other's company had been possible only because Lovino had turned Antonio down, and Arthur had done the same to Francis. Something good had risen out of the ashes of something unpleasant, just like the proverbial phoenix. Roderich's coma had been the same way. For Gilbert, it had been nothing short of a waking nightmare. But it had brought the two closer together in a way. Even in what had happened with Ivan, a faint ray of sunlight shone through the storm clouds – Francis had told Gilbert that Alfred and Ivan had been together for a month or two now.

_Sometimes, things really do work out after all,_ he thought.

Then, he glanced at Roderich.

Roderich, who had passed out yesterday. Roderich, who might have sustained some sort of brain trauma and could potentially pass out again – or worse. Roderich, who Gilbert didn't know if he could bear to part with one more time.

The albino sighed heavily, worrying again. He touched Roderich's arm and leaned in close. "You look tired, Roddy," he said. "I think we should go home."

Roderich nodded, grasped Gilbert's collar, and pulled him in for a kiss. "I think that's a good idea," he said once he'd pulled away, face still hovering inches away from Gilbert's.

The two stood, said good-bye to Ludwig, Feliciano, and the rest of their friends and family, and got their coats before they slipped out into the dark night air together. Roderich shivered, and Gilbert wrapped an arm around him as they made their way to the car. As Gilbert pulled out of the parking lot, the Austrian leaned against the cool car window, looking as though he was starting to drift off already.

Once they'd arrived home, they shed their suits and hung them neatly in their separate closets. The crisp jacket and pants they'd worn looked right at home in Roderich's closet, which was full of neat button-downs and dress pants, while in Gilbert's closet, they looked like lost foreigners, crammed between sweatshirts and jeans, some of which were oil-stained. The two climbed into bed together. Just like any other night, Gilbert scooted in close behind Roderich so that their bodies fit perfectly together, and draped an arm loosely over him. Just like any other night, they exchanged their "I love yous." Gilbert pressed a kiss to the Austrian's cheek and let him slip into sleep.

But Gilbert couldn't find rest. No matter how peaceful and unaffected Roderich looked at the moment, it didn't chase away the nagging fear in the back of Gilbert's mind, the one that silenced all rational thoughts. He fought the urge to toss and turn, and instead held the Austrian close, as though that protective embrace could make him immune to the outside world and all its dangers.

After an hour or so had passed, and Gilbert still couldn't relax, he nudged Roderich's shoulder gently. "Roddy, are you awake?" he whispered.

"I am now," a sleepy voice mumbled in return.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" Gilbert said, feeling guilty for having woken Roderich.

"That's all right. You can't sleep, Gil?" He twisted around in Gilbert's arms so they were facing each other.

"I'm still worried, Roderich. I…" Gilbert paused and agonized over his thoughts for a moment. Saying something that would make him seem weak had always been something he tried his best to avoid doing. But he had to tell Roderich exactly what he was thinking and what he was feeling if he wanted their relationship to recover fully. He sighed heavily. "I can't have anything happen to you again."

"Oh, Gil. I'll be fine. I'm fine right now." Roderich sounded rather unconcerned. It was almost ironic – Gilbert was more worried about the Austrian's health than he was.

"But what if you're not fine?"

Roderich let the briefest chuckle escape his lips. "You're so cute when you're worried," he teased.

"I am not!" Gilbert shot back.

"You are too, and that's final." The glare Roderich gave him would have looked irritated or even angry to anyone else, but Gilbert knew it was just playful. But then, his expression softened a shade. "But if you ever need to talk – about _anything _– I'll be here." A brief pause. "Now get some rest, Gil. Good night."

With Roderich in his arms, Gilbert could at last fall asleep. For now, the man Gilbert loved was safe and secure. For now, they were together, beyond the clutches of comas and their lasting aftershocks.

And for now, Gilbert was content to hope that it would last forever.

* * *

**And that's the end! I hope this last chapter lived up to expectations.**

**I want to thank you all for reading and reviewing. All your comments and feedback have meant a lot to me.**

**I'll be taking a very short (2 weeks or so) break from writing long fics – during that time, I'll be writing some oneshots while I map out the plot for some future PruAus fics. **

**In fact, I've actually put up a **_**poll **_**on my author page to see which multi-chapter PruAus fic you might like to read next. Please take it and let me know what you think! I'd like to let you guys kind of choose what I write next, since I'm so appreciative of all your support for Remember the Music.**

**Thank you all!**


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